


Mischief's Child

by Kaiya12053



Series: Mischief's Child [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Asgard, Character Study, Crossover, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts First Year, Loki adopts Draco, POV Multiple, Parent Loki (Marvel), Protective Loki (Marvel), Slytherin Harry Potter, also starring exposition, but the angst is only for character development, parenting fluff, shifting of timelines for storytelling purposes, this started as 1000 words of crack and then somehow became this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiya12053/pseuds/Kaiya12053
Summary: On the night that his heir is to be conceived, Lucius Malfoy performed an ancient ritual summoning the most ancient magic on earth to ensure that his child would be powerful. Little did he know that the oldest magic on Earth at the time belonged to Loki.





	1. Chapter 1

Narcissa Malfoy grows progressively weaker during the pregnancy. Lucius employs a Healer who agrees to be put under an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal anything about the strange complications. The Healer is baffled and a little frightened when she feels the potency of the magic in Narcissa’s womb. She administers various potions and attempts various spells which do nothing to slow the deterioration in Narcissa’s health. Her condition, in fact, is rapidly escalating the closer she gets to term. Tragically, the Lady Malfoy dies in childbirth despite the Healer’s best efforts.

Lucius Malfoy’s grief and guilt are tempered only by the powerful magic he feels radiating from his newborn son. He tells himself that the need for a powerful heir has justified the cost and resolves not to think on the matter any further. Everything dies, but the Malfoy Legacy lives on and is all that matters. 

What he does not know is that, while Draco Malfoy is born the flesh and blood of Lucius and Narcissa, his magic is entirely from another world. The ritual performed by Lucius Malfoy on the night of his heir’s conception caused Draco to be, in essence, half-human because he is born of _Loki’s_ magic.

-

Loki had given very little thought to the so-called “magical” mortals of Midgard. Creatures whose magic was so feeble that they needed to craft wands to focus their meager magic into something useful and so weak-willed that they needed to speak their spells aloud and use precise wand movements. So pitiful was this realm’s mortal magic that the more advanced sorcerers on Midgard were only as such because they relied much upon drawing power from other dimensions.  

But Loki is fascinated by the human child who carries his magic. In the past, the trickster has conjured constructs of his magic that have been labeled as his “children.” Slepnir, Fenrir, Jörmungandr - these were his creations true enough, but his magic could not create a soul for them. Those creatures were the simply products of his imagination and his greatest works of art, no matter what stories and myths proclaimed.

Yet this little dragon is _his_. To his amazement, the child is so much more his than anything else he's ever known in his life. Loki’s own seiðr flows within this Midgardian child. Loki watches as Draco grows, amused that he can understand any languages his tutors try to teach him because he carries the gift of Allspeak. The humans around the boy marvel at the frequency and strength of the child's “accidental magic” which is merely the faintest thread of the child's barely developing powers. Loki can feel all the hidden potential within Draco and it fills him with pride. The second prince of Asgard decides that he will one day train his little dragon properly into his true inheritance after the boy learns the rudiments of Midgard’s simple magics.

Even still, Loki routinely visits the child of his seiðr in the still of the night. He’ll usually appear in the form of a wolf or a snake and somehow Draco recognizes Loki no matter what form he takes. The child is never afraid. The boy clings to him however he appears and cuddles closely, apparently finding some comfort and security in Loki’s presence. It stirs something powerful inside him and he feels a protective instinct and desire for the child’s well-being that is impossible to ignore. _There is no reason to take the child now,_ Loki reasons against these strange emotions, _Draco is safe and well-cared for where he is. It is not yet time._

 

* * *

 

When Draco is almost 7 years old, Lucius slaps him in the face with a stinging hex because the boy has brought a muggle book home. When he demands to know where it came from, a hurt and confused Draco says it was from another student at his music lessons. Lucius states that Draco will not be going back to that music teacher and is never again to see that “filthy mudblood spawn.”

“No!” Draco cries out in despair at the threat of having his only friend taken away from him. His raw emotions cause the magic within him to swirl out of control and push Lucius back several feet. Lucius, enraged at being defied, throws another stinging hex at his son’s face to put the boy in his place. It is unexpectedly deflected by the strange magic now billowing around his heir like a white fog which seems to thicken the air in the room. Stunned and reacting to a growing fear of Draco’s volatile wild magic, Lucius decides to use the Cruciatus curse whose dark properties will certainly cut through the whirling energy. He won’t make it strong enough to damage his heir, of course, but just enough to put a healthy amount of necessary fear and respect into the child.

Lucius lifts his wand again and snarls “Crucio!” Bright yellow magic shoots towards the boy and the curse connects. Draco screams.  

Not more than two seconds pass and Lucius is just about the release the curse when he is slammed into the wall so powerfully that all the air rushes from his lungs. His wand falls to the floor and rolls away. A strangely dressed wizard with dark hair and green eyes filled with fury has suddenly apparated into his home, somehow entering despite his family's ancient and powerful wards. His pride wants to demand who would have the audacity to attack him in his own home, but his instincts are screaming this man might be as dangerous as the Dark Lord himself. Even if he could decide on what to say, he cannot speak. His entire body is frozen and his mouth will not move. All the Lord of Malfoy Manor can do is watch as this violent intruder turns and crouches over his son and heir.

“Can you stand, little dragon?” the strange wizard whose eyes seem to glow eerily asks the little boy. It's a surprisingly gentle tone considering the fierceness of his expression. Draco sniffles softly and then murmurs a quiet “yes” in answer. As the child stands up, his eyes fall upon the stranger. The boy’s face scrunches up in confusion and his head tilts a bit to the side as if he is trying to figure something out.

The wizard suddenly shifts into a dark gray wolf. _An animagus_ , Lucius thinks. But then, incredibly, the stranger shifts again into a large snake to Lucius’ awe; and then, _impossibly_ , his attacker changes shape yet _a third time_ into a panther before returning to his human form.

“It _is_ you!” Draco squeals in recognition and then throws his arms around the stranger's waist, squeezing tightly. The man smiles fondly and pats Draco on the head, whispering, “Yes, my little dragon. I've been watching you, always.”

If Lucius were not already frozen by magic, he would be freezing in horror at the revelation that this unknown and powerful dark wizard has been stalking his heir.

The dark haired wizard tells Draco to call Dobby and ask the house elf if he will accept freedom in exchange for a paying job serving a new household. Dobby agrees without hesitation. Draco obeys without question when he is instructed to give the house elf his socks. The boy giggles at how happy Dobby is to receive them. Then, the wizard pulls out a galleon and says that Dobby works for him now and that the house elf’s first task is for Dobby to take all of Draco’s things to the Odinson Estate.

Lucius realizes with a dread and terror that this dark wizard intends to kidnap his heir. The magic holding him in place does not prevent his eyes from widening in panic. He struggles to remember anything about any Wizarding family by the name of Odinson. It sounds familiar and foreign at the same time and he’s certain he’s heard the name somewhere before.  

“I had decided to let him grow up among your kind and present him with his birthright after he matured.” The strange wizard reveals with a sneer, finally addressing Lucius. “However, I will not allow the child of my magic to suffer abuse at the hands of his mortal sire.” the wizard spits out the last few words in clear disgust.

The invisible force holding Lucius against the wall disappears suddenly and he falls to the floor in a crumpled heap. Shaken and confused at the man's words he barely manages to stutter, “The.. the child of your magic?”

The man smiles cruelly. “Why, yes. You were the one who performed the ritual which summoned my magic, oh, nearly seven years ago? And though the boy is of your blood, he is born of _my_ _magic.”_

Lucius’ stomach drops. His whole body feels numb. _No. No. No, it's not possible._ Lucius panicked thoughts race. He sacrificed so much in that ritual for his heir. It couldn't have possibly done anything like what this wizard is implying. _Draco is mine! My child! My heir!_

As if using legilimency, the wizard answers his frantic unspoken thoughts and declares, “Oh, how wrong you are. Magic is the purest and most superior claim there is. The child is mine by right.”

“That's impossible!” Lucius rages at the absurd assertion. His shock replaced by outrage at the insanity of the wizard's ludicrous claim. “The ritual was to summon the oldest magic…” His next words are cut off by the other man's dark laughter.

“Ah, well then, that would explain it perfectly.” the stranger declares smugly.

“Who _are_ you?” Lucius rasps.

“I am Loki, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard.”

Lucius faints.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos/comments on the story so far~! 
> 
> A big thank you to Kidor who has graciously agreed to volunteer her time to beta read the story! And a special shout out to my friend Chip who mourned that there wasn't any dialogue between Draco and Loki after reading the first draft of this chapter. All the stuff in italics got added because I took another look at the chapter with that in mind ^__^

Loki knelt down and looked earnestly into the boy’s gray eyes.

“You are safe now, my little dragon. From now on you will live with me.”

The gratitude and adoration that beams from Draco's face is startling. It is a sight that both warms and startles Loki. Countless times, others had looked upon Thor in a similar way. He himself had looked to his golden brother at times when he'd felt vulnerable and Thor's presence suddenly made everything alright (though he'd never admit it).

_"I'll protect you!" a young Thor had declared as the bilgesnipe began to charge towards them. They had been seeking adventure and knew real danger for the first time in their lives. Though some small part of Loki doubted that his brother's wooden sword would protect them, it was drowned out by his overwhelming faith in Thor._

Loki smiled at the childhood memory. Thor had asked him to find a way to escape the guard who would accompany them outside the palace walls, so he pilfered a sleeping draught from his magic tutor's stock and slipped it into the guard's drink. Thor and Loki had wandered for some time when they unknowingly crossed into the bilgesnipe’s territory. Before the beast could attack them, however, their father had appeared and stopped the bilgesnipe in its tracks.

But even though their father had rescued them, Thor was still the hero in Loki’s eyes. His brother didn’t hesitate to step in front of danger to protect him. Not that day or any day since. Ever since that moment, Loki had wanted nothing more than to be just like his older brother. But despite his constant vigilance, he remained ignored and forgotten within Asgard. Standing in those glittering halls, Loki was nothing more than a shadow cast by his golden brother. And yet, to this half-mortal child who is now Loki’s by some strange design of the Norns...

After centuries in the dark, Loki feels himself dawning like the light of a morning star in this child’s eyes. After centuries of being his brother’s shadow, Loki has suddenly become someone’s sun.

It is unexpectedly powerful in a way Loki could never have imagined and humbles him like nothing ever has before. His chest tightens with emotion as he thinks: _“The ways of the Norns are strange. But sometimes they are also kind.”_

Loki is pulled out of his introspection as a small and hesitant voice asks, “What do I call you?”   

When Draco asks this question, the decision to have the boy call him by an Old Norse word is not on a whim. Loki knows that the meaning of the word as conveyed to his little dragon is far more important than the word itself. The boy’s understanding of the word “Father” had been shaped and corrupted by Lucius’ actions. And so, Loki gives Draco a new word to attribute all that Loki intends on being for the child of his magic. Since Allspeak lived in Draco’s veins as surely as Loki’s seiðr, only the two of them would hear the word “Faðir” while everyone else would hear “Father” as it was spoken in their native tongue. It was Loki’s promise to Draco and a secret shared between them.   

 -

Because small children need rules and structure, Loki establishes a routine for his little dragon. They are up at dawn to do meditative stretching and light exercises. Then, after a good breakfast is had and the mind still focused in the early hours of the day, Draco’s tutelage in magic and knowledge begins.

Because Loki abhors predictability, every day’s instruction is different.

Some mornings are focused entirely on teaching his little dragon about magic -- not just about his own seiðr and how to focus and wield it, but also the possibilities and potentials of magic in all its various forms. Most other days are reserved for educating the boy about the history, culture, politics, and traditions of all the Nine Realms, with special emphasis on Midgard (magical and non-magical communities alike) and Asgard. So much of what society dictates is a construct born out of tradition and an understanding of the different cultures will give the boy a unique perspective not achieved by most mortals in their lifetimes. Finally, rounding out the boy’s education, Loki will take a day or two each week to instruct Draco in other subjects such as mathematics, science, and music.

Eager to learn, his young charge’s mind soaks up new knowledge like a sponge. It’s pleasing that Draco’s mind is so pliant as Loki wants the boy to be flexible and adaptable in his thinking. Often, he will give instructions that are implicit suggestions so that the boy learns how to interpret the meaning between words. Draco is quick-witted and eager to please, thriving most when receiving healthy amounts of praise balanced with gentle criticism. Loki feels compelled to give his child everything he could ever desire, but manages to curb his inclination towards spoiling him if only by reminding himself of the flaws which came about in his older brother because Thor always got whatever he wanted.

He wondered how spoiled and wilful Thor was by the time he was born. Had his parents actually decided to take a different approach with Loki because they had realized their mistake with Thor? Is it possible that their intentions were for his good? The memories of feeling ignored as a child still sting. But, now, he can at least lavish all the attention he wished he had upon his little dragon. Loki loves the bright smile gifted to him whenever he tells Draco that he has done well. It is a healing balm which eases some of the centuries old resentment. Loki marvels at this novel perspective. It’s one that he never would have had if Draco had not come into his life.     

His little dragon’s magic is so responsive and familiar that it is easy to instruct the boy to weave illusions. He is just as proficient as Loki was at that same age. And Loki is particularly pleased that Draco takes to shapeshifting surprisingly soon for it has always been one of Loki’s most draining abilities. When Draco first starts learning to shift his form, the boy goes around for over a week with black hair and green eyes. Then, after several months, the child begins to grasp the ability to shift into animal forms and quickly progresses. Draco’s is magic so much like Loki’s but yet it's own -- the boy’s animal forms tend to be light in color while Loki’s own seiðr is of a disposition to favor darker colors. As impractical as it is, Loki finds this tendency of Draco towards shifting into albino animals terribly endearing. When the boy shifted into a white colored raven, Loki had barely been able to hold back his laughter out of concern that it might discourage Draco’s first attempt at shifting into a bird’s form. “ _A white raven is a bit conspicuous, perhaps try a dove_ ,” Loki had remarked behind his hand.

Despite his prodigious grasp on weaving illusions and shifting form, Draco is still so very young, so very new to life. The child is frustrated in his attempts to focus his magic outwards -- something which gave Loki no trouble as a child. While he’s slowly beginning to understand how to gather magical energy in his hands or around him as a protective barrier (even if he still hasn’t quite managed it yet), there is little to no force when he tries to use his seiðr offensively to affect the world around him. Loki suspects that the child's challenges in focusing his magic outwards is due to some influence of his human biology, but it is nothing that Draco won’t be able to overcome with more time and training. This is part of the reason why Draco will need to learn the most basic fundamentals of mortal magic at Hogwarts.   

 

Loki will often discuss with Draco the virtues and vices of the four Hogwarts Houses. It is one of Draco’s favorite topics, especially after Loki had told the child that he had actually met the founders of the school over a thousand years ago.  

_“Faðir? Which is the best Hogwarts House?” Draco had asked one day._

_“Ah, but that is not a very good question, little dragon. What does ‘best’ truly mean?” Loki queries before his voice turns wistful, “Even I couldn’t qualify any of the houses as being so broadly ‘the best’ of all and I knew the founders.”_

_Draco’s eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets when he asked excitedly, “You actually met the Hogwarts founders, Faðir?! You must be really old!”_

_Loki had laughed softly, “Indeed, my little dragon.”_

The flow of time between the Nine Realms was not uniform nor constant. Vanaheim’s time flowed the most similarly to Asgard, with variations of only hours or days at most; and it was believed that Helheim had the most extreme time differentials where, after one single hour in that dead realm, a decade would pass on Asgard and a century would pass on Midgard. Only Heimdall knew for certain the flows of time between the realms intimately in all his watchfulness and Loki had never wanted to venture to Helheim himself to find out the truth. Between Asgard and Midgard, the passage of time was the most uncertain but tended towards a slower passage of time on the mortals’ world. Thus, when more than a hundred years had passed since his father’s victory against the Frost Giants at the Battle of Tønsberg, only about 50 Midgardian years had passed at the site where the battle was actually fought.

It was around that time when Loki had first learned how to navigate the secret paths between the realms. Perhaps it was because it was forbidden, or perhaps it was because he vividly remembered his father’s stories about the Battle of Tønsberg where the warriors of Asgard saved Midgard from the invading Frost Giant army, but Midgard had been one of the worlds that Loki always delighted in sneaking off to.

_“Were you there when the founders made Hogwarts, Faðir?”_

_“Yes, little dragon, I was there. I even helped.”_

In the early years of Hogwarts, Loki had challenged the four founders on their methods and helped them think through and imagine greater possibilities for the school. There were a few enchantments of Loki’s own design at Hogwarts which still baffled people to this very day and thus were simply attributed to the greatness of the founders. In his own way, Loki had a silent hand in creating the foundation of school. For that reason, Hogwarts had received a regular and generous donation from the Odinson Family throughout the centuries (much to the frustration of Durmstrang administrators who were quite persistent in seeking more support than the token donation it would receive in comparison).

The founders had declared that any future child of Loki’s family would always have a place at Hogwarts. At the time, he had graciously thanked them while internally scoffing at the idea of any child of his attending a Midgardian school. _“The Norns have quite the sense of humor,”_ mused Loki as he made plans for Draco to attend Hogwarts.

Loki has fond memories of the Hogwarts founders. Not only were they the first mortal friends he ever made, they were some of the most interesting magical mortals he’s ever encountered in his visits to Midgard. Watching the House philosophies distill into caricatures of the founders’ most notorious characteristics was a bit disheartening. His memories of them were so much more vibrant than the two-dimensional archetypes that had carried on throughout the ages.

_“Who was your favorite of the four?” Draco had asked._

_“Your questions, little dragon, are far too broad and sweeping.” Loki reprimands. “Will you gain the information you seek with a question like that? If I simply answered ‘Slytherin -- because of their house colors’ would that satisfy your curiosity?” Draco frowns thoughtfully and Loki decides to go easy on the boy and adds, “But, I’ll tell you whose favorite_ I _was.”_

Salazar Slytherin was always the most eager out of the four founders to seek his company. Loki has always suspected that the wizard’s choice of green in his House colors was more than a mere coincidence. Yet Salazar’s House, like all the Hogwarts Houses, was a poor reflection of the mortal Loki had known. The man was soft-spoken and quietly thoughtful; the most gentle of the four. Loki had helped cultivate Salazar’s esteem for cunning and ambition as a sword and shield of the mind because it suited the introverted mortal best. He had greatly approved of those being incorporated as values for Salazar’s Hogwarts House. Unfortunately, Loki was unsuccessful in curbing the mortal’s almost manic paranoia about non-magical mortals discovering the wizarding world. It was disappointing, yet not surprising, that such sentiments became magnified into the fanatical rhetoric of zealots over the centuries.

_“Faðir, do only the bravest students get sorted into Gryffindor?”_

_“An interesting question, little dragon. Why do you think that?”_

_Draco rolled his eyes, “Faðir!” the boy whined, “You always answer my questions with questions!”_

_“Not always.” Loki corrected, “But often, yes. Especially when you ask without thinking about the answer you truly want."_

Loki had liked Godric Gryffindor because he had a similar bravery to Thor, but without his brother’s frustrating stubbornness and pride. It was refreshing how the man genuinely cared to listen to the viewpoints of others. A large part of what made Godric such a good leader was his willingness to see different perspectives in order to understand the larger picture. It was this quality that brought and held the founders -- each so very different -- together under the singular vision of creating Hogwarts. Sadly, only the wizard’s traits of boldness seemed to have survived the passage of time. The products of his Hogwarts House stubbornly clung most tightly to the things that brought the most glory and eventually became, in Loki’s mind, a House with many who needed desperately to be told that they were worthy.

_“Faðir, my old tutors said that Hufflepuff was the most useless House. That’s not true, is it?”_

_“Ah, a better question, little dragon.” Loki assessed and Draco puffed out his chest proudly at the compliment. “But before I answer, what do you know of Hufflepuff House?”_

_“I think...that Hufflepuffs like to work hard and find things?”_

_“That is exactly why they are the most underestimated House. I will tell you the tale of Helga Hufflepuff, who was as ferocious in battle as the shield maiden Sif...”_

Helga Hufflepuff’s legacy was probably the most intact in function if not in form. She had rather reminded Loki of Sif in her toughness and was one of the few mortals he’d ever admit would be welcome at his side in battle. Her grit gave her the reputation of never being afraid of hard work. At the time of the founding of Hogwarts, no one would have dared underestimate Helga and yet somehow her House had become known as meekly lacking any of the traits so vaunted by the other Houses. It seemed that over the centuries, people had forgotten about the viciousness of the badger. As far as Loki could tell, Helga’s ferocious spirit still remained within the House she founded and that proved to be a hidden asset. Loki could only approve as being underestimated generally worked to one’s advantage.

_“Faðir, since Ravenclaw cares most about intelligence, would I only be sorted into it if I was one of the smartest in my year?”_

_“No, Draco. As it is today, the value that Ravenclaw House places on intelligence is more about the love of knowledge. Besides, there are other traits that Ravenclaw is known for such as creativity and wit.”_

_“You said ‘as it is today.’” Draco paused in thought, “Faðir, do you mean that Ravenclaw House was different in the past?”_

Rowena Ravenclaw’s Hogwarts House had an incomplete imitation of the woman’s love of learning. She was an amusingly clever mortal and would have despaired over her legacy focusing on such myopic views of knowledge. More so, the mortal would have hated how her successors had twisted the image of her favorite animal into a sentiment she did not believe in. Rowena loved the eagle because she loved birds and thought it was the most majestic of all. Yet, at some point in time, someone decided that Ravenclaw’s emblem was an eagle because it “soars where others cannot climb.” This was the beginning of an unspoken sentiment in Ravenclaw House that only they were smart enough to figure out the secrets of the universe and everyone else was seen as intellectual inferiors. Ironic, considering that one of Rowena Ravenclaw’s favorite sayings was “humility is the beginning of wisdom.”

Notwithstanding the flaws he saw in each of the Hogwarts Houses, Loki also appreciated their strengths. If Draco could understand both the negative and positive aspects of each House, not only would that optimize his growth, it would also give him valuable perspective and insight about students in other houses. The other benefit to Draco attending Hogwarts is that his little dragon will be able to put into practice and experiment with all the things he’s learning about leveraging social interactions. Developing his political senses as well as learning how to recognize both opportunity and threat are talents that can’t be honed without practical experience after all.

The boy’s interest flits through each House and, though Loki speculates about where his little dragon will eventually be sorted, he does nothing to influence him in any direction. Afterall, what use is it in teaching the child to think through his own decisions if only to manipulate him into choosing Loki’s own preference? The Sorting Hat was his own enchantment -- a sort of joke between him and Godric who kept fretting about students finding their proper place -- and he knew what mattered most in the sorting was the child’s own choice.

 

Each day, Loki makes sure to gives Draco enough physical training to burn up the excess energy that all little boys have. The grounds of the Odinson Estate are vast and accommodate a variety of activities. Horseback riding, unarmed combat, archery, and basic weaponry are all things Loki learned during his childhood and eagerly passes on. There is no doubt in his mind that his little dragon should be well-versed in these matters as befits his Asgardian heritage. And through various exercises - such as capturing a flag defended by enchanted furniture or mobilizing one garden gnome faction against another to conquer and claim the quidditch pitch - Loki is also instilling a sense of tactics in Draco to hone his little dragon’s instincts for battle.

 

The last meal of the day is filled with rich and varied conversation. Loki encourages Draco to express his opinions and ask questions about anything and everything. He wants Draco to learn more than mere rote memorization of facts; he wants to grow the boy’s mind and cultivate his curiosity. They do word puzzles together. Loki gives him riddles. And he asks the boy questions that require serious thought and creative application of the subjects he’s learning:

_How would you convince a dwarf from Niðavellir to trust an elf from Alfheim?_

_Which works of Vanir literature do you think could pass as modern Midgardian literature?_

_Has Midgard’s wizarding society hindered its progress by isolating itself from non-magical mortals?_

 

At the end of every day, Loki sends Draco off to bed with kiss on the brow and a book to fall asleep to.

 

Spending his days teaching his little dragon and laying the foundations which will guide the child of his magic towards his potential is more satisfying than he had imagined it would be. Loki finds that he’s more than happy -- he’s content.   


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's feelings about his new life. Loki prepares to bring Draco to Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful beta reader Kidor is busy with life at the moment, but still managed to give this a read so that you’re not subjected to my bad typos and repeating sentences. Much gratitude to her <3

 

 

For as long as he could remember, Draco had felt the constant buzz of the magic under his skin. The first time he made a shadow dance he didn’t even understand what he was doing or how he was doing it. All he knew was that it felt right. But when he went to show it to his father, instead of making Lucius proud, he shook Draco by the shoulders and said to him:

 _“You would do well to never show anyone what you have shown me tonight. This..._ magic _...as you call it; it is nothing more than an unfortunate accident of your birth. I will not allow the pure blood heir of the Malfoy name to wield the magic of savages.”_

At the time, Draco had felt guilty and ashamed for being a disappointment to his father. He had tried his best to keep his magic hidden to prevent earning another reprimand. But now, everything was different. At the Odinson Estate, he could use his magic openly. He could begin to understand it and to gain control of it. As he stretched his magic outward into this open space he began to understand the meaning of the word “freedom” for the first time.

And it was all because of his Faðir.

Draco loved the feeling of the word Faðir as he spoke it. It had none of that metallic taste born of criticism and neglect that he associated with “Father.” Draco would never call Loki “Father” because Loki was so much _better_ than that.

Back when he was at Malfoy Manor, his stupid tutors had told him that he would have to wait until he attended Hogwarts before he could learn how to perform magic. They had ignored Draco when he had asked about the shimmering strands of different colors he’d sometimes see just because they couldn’t see them too. But since coming home with his Faðir, he’s learned that what he was seeing were actual threads of magic. He’s learned to be able to see them when he wants to and that he can play with them to make things look different. It was the best feeling in the world to hear “ _I’m proud of you, little dragon_ ” when he started to weave illusions _without a wand_ just like his Faðir.    

It’s been easy to adjust to his new life with his Faðir at the Odinson Estate. After all, he had barely seen Lucius, and when he had, Lucius was hardly an affectionate parent. Most of his days had been spent with tutors; and then in the evenings, he was fed and cared for by the dutiful house elves who never deviated from the established routines that were dictated by Lord Malfoy. 

There is no routine here. And Draco loves it.

Each day, he is taught new things in different ways and tested always when he least expects. His tutors were so boring, but Faðir can make even the most boring subject interesting. More than that, everything he’s learning is important.

_“There’s always a puzzle to solve, little dragon. The more you know, the more pieces you have to play the game.”_

He still has to learn about wizarding customs, but now he gets to learn about the customs of other worlds too. Draco’s imagination is enthralled by the thought of seeing those worlds with his Faðir one day. His daydreaming runs wild envisioning adventures in Muspelheim and visiting Asgard to see the place his Faðir is from. His Faðir tells him that when they eventually journey to Asgard, Draco is to say his name is Draco _Lokison_ explaining that It's only “Draco Odinson” here because of “Midgard tradition.”

“ _Remember well, little dragon, that you must always be flexible and ready to adapt to your surroundings._ ”

And he wasn’t just learning magic or the things found in books, he also got to play every day -- Draco rode horses and shot arrows and dodged enchanted furniture. Sometimes he just played wizarding chess with his Faðir, but other times he got to play out battles on the quidditch pitch with garden gnomes. (Draco dreamed of one day leading the Blue-Shirted garden gnomes to victory against the Red-Shirted ones). He could hardly believe it when Faðir said he’d be learning about combat.

 _“Like, muggle dueling? With weapons?”_ Draco had asked excitedly. His Faðir had chuckled a bit and said armed combat would be for a bit later but Draco wasn’t satisfied with an answer like that. He asked question after question about the weapons on display in the halls. When he found out that his Faðir used knives, he begged to see them. So when his Faðir joined the next Quidditch Pitch Battle, he let his knives fly, effortlessly pinning down every single one of garden gnomes by their shirts. It was the most incredible thing Draco has ever seen and he was determined to be just as good one day.

Well... _every_ day wasn't perfect. There were still boring parts sometimes. Like when it felt like he’d been punching and kicking the training post for hours. Or when he was tired of memorizing so many things and the afternoon play time couldn’t come fast enough. There were days when he felt crushed with disappointment if he couldn’t perform the spells that his Fadir was teaching him or if he was clumsy in sparring. He didn’t like the way it ached inside when he failed. And there were times when he really really wanted more pudding but then Faðir says he can’t have anymore.

But still, living with his Faðir is better than all the birthdays and all the Christmas mornings he’s ever had before. It feels like the most natural thing to leave the name “Malfoy” behind as he steps into his new life. It feels like coming home.

 

* * *

 

It had been a little over a Midgardian year since Loki had claimed his little dragon when Draco ran up to Loki excitedly clutching a book of Norse myths asking if Fenrir, Jörmungandr, and Slepnir were his brothers. After Loki had explained that they were merely magical constructs, Draco’s face had become resigned for a moment before it flashed with inspiration.

 _“Does that mean that I can make friends out of magic too?”_   The boy had asked.

Loki sighed. He had begun to notice that the boy was feeling lonely. The house elf Dobby had helped entertain the child with his antics, but it wasn’t a substitute for all that had been left behind. When Loki had attempted to bring Draco back to his music lessons, the staff had met them with fear and suspicion before asking them to leave. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy had wasted no time in spreading different rumors in an attempt to save face. That he took no action to dispute Loki’s claim was telling, but the rumors sank deeper into people’s minds. This mattered little, however. Lucius’ tacit acceptance of the loss of his heir was as good as a declaration of the truth for those whose opinions mattered most in wizarding society. Moreover, the Odinson Family reputation was ancient and eccentric enough that it didn’t really matter what the gossips speculated about anyway. There was quite a tolerance for the odd behavior of powerful wizards from established families; even those labeled as a “dangerous madman” by someone once accused of being a Death Eater.

Still, Loki decided it would be simpler to tutor the boy at home and keep him away from any of the toxic lies Lucius was spreading and better to keep Draco from being questioned about his heritage before he could explain everything to his little dragon properly in a few years. The boy is too young yet to be told that the same spell which had made Draco his child also caused his mother’s death. As such, Draco spent his days on the Estate with just Loki, the house elves, and garden gnome factions for company.   

Loki had planned on presenting the boy to the court in Asgard on his 9th birthday, but as he considered it, he thought perhaps there was no real reason to wait. The child’s seiðr was strong enough that even Thor would be able to sense the connection between Loki and this child of Midgard. As much as Draco’s seiðr had grown in the time since he came to live with Loki, it was not as if the boy would become any less a half-mortal from Midgard. Frigga would likely chide him for keeping her new grandson away longer than necessary, and maybe introducing the boy to a doting grandmother would help his little dragon’s lonely disposition. No, waiting wouldn’t improve his chances of obtaining some kind of status for the boy.

Resigned to altering his timetables yet again, Loki shifts his plans to take the path which is in the best interest of the child of his magic.

 -

Loki conjures a formal Asgardian ensemble for Draco. The child’s excitement over the attire brings a smile to Loki’s face. It resembled what he himself had worn as a child during formal proceedings which he routinely attended, made from fabric of his colors and symmetrically cut in the typical fashion of the armor worn by males in Asgard.  

_“Faðir,” Draco had asked while looking at his outfit in the mirror, “These clothes are the same colors, but they don’t look quite the same as yours. Is it because you are wearing grown-up clothes? Is this what children wear in Asgard?”_

_“This is what little princes wear in Asgard.” Loki had answered Draco._

It isn’t that he cares about the ideals of masculinity associated with clothing in Asgardian society, it is simply that Draco has not shown any interest or asked any questions regarding gender expression or gender identity as of yet. Rather than confuse the still developing child with with such topics too early, Loki will patiently provide guidance as Draco develops at his own pace. In fact, Loki did not even begin to favor the asymmetrical cuts generally associated with Asgardian women’s clothing until just before he started sneaking off to other realms.

He had gradually added the asymmetrical aesthetic to his clothing over time, lengthening one lapel or adding additional flourishes to one sleeve but not the other.  It was something he did for no other reason other than that he liked the look of it. He didn’t care about fitting in. Loki remembered well the shock and disdain once his tastes evolved and became more apparent in his clothing. Of course, Loki’s status as a royal prince gave him the freedom to challenge Asgardian gendered stereotypes without consequence. His actions undoubtedly inspiring Sif to style her armor more symmetrically (and much more practically) in later years.

Over time, people simply accepted Loki’s chosen style of dress and found other reasons for their subtle sneers and scornful whispers. There was no lack of disdain for the nature of his seiðr and no lack of suspicion for the ambiguity naturally gifted to him by virtue of his shapeshifting abilities. And no lack of rumors.

When you could choose to appear however you wished, people would believe just about anything. The origins of Slepnir, for example. So many accepted and repeated the tale that Loki had become pregnant while in the form of a mare to distract Svaðilfari when, in truth, he had created Slepnir as a gift for his father out of his own magic. Instead of being celebrated for accomplishing such a feat, he was mocked for his nature. Despite the degradation he felt inside, Loki maintained casual indifference on the outside.           

But Loki wants better for his little dragon. He wants Draco to always celebrate each of the unique things that makes him who he is. Loki never wants the child of his magic to ever doubt his value. Regardless of the outcome of their visit to Asgard, Loki is determined to protect Draco in all ways. He gives Draco a hug and squeezes the back of his neck. It’s a gesture of Thor’s which has never failed to reassure Loki. He’s never thought of using it with Draco until now.

“Little dragon,” Loki says, his heart filled with affection and fierce protectiveness as he speaks, “remember that you are the son of a prince of Asgard. Stand up straight and hold your head high no matter what. Do not let anyone tell you who you are. Remember _whose_ you are: my son. Know that I love you with all my heart, Draco. Believe in that when you cannot believe in anything else.”

Draco nods obediently but he is perhaps too excited and too young for the words to be truly meaningful. But, Loki hopes that his child remembers them in moments of doubt.         

 

* * *

 

Draco can’t stop touching the shining green dragon scales that adorn the front of the leather cuirass and tassets of his new ensemble. (Well, he’s worn these black pants and boots during training sometimes, but everything else is new). He wonders what kind of dragon they came from. The dark green leather of the cuirass is woven tightly into a light armor which wraps around his sides securely. The hide, while sturdy, is also flexible which makes it easy to move around in. Wrapping around his forearms are golden vambraces etched with beautiful designs like the ones on his Faðir’s golden armor. These match the golden greaves shielding his shins bearing similar designs, some of them he recognizes as runes of protection. Even though Draco hasn’t gotten to practice with a real sword yet, he is still proud of the small one that hangs at his side.     

And he gets to wear a cape!

The only thing that could make it more incredible is a helmet like the golden horned one his Faðir is wearing.

  


Draco follows his Faðir on horseback to a remote part of the grounds, far past the quidditch pitch and beyond the lake that lies on the edge of the Estate. They come to stop at a cluster of willow trees. He still can’t believe they are finally going to Asgard.

“Can you see what is hidden here, little dragon?” his Faðir asks.

Draco squints and concentrates. His vision is suddenly filled with brightly glittering threads of magic in every color imaginable. Most shimmer iridescently and are almost transparent until they are woven together with other threads. Draco has learned how different colors do different things and how different patterns of different shapes and sizes affect the properties of the seiðr.  He scans the area and looks for the weavings of illusion, but sees nothing that stands out at first.

Dismounting, he walks closer, trying to get a better look. Then, a flicker of a familiar pattern catches his eye. It is small and subtle, but he recognizes it at once. Lifting his hands in front of him, with precise and practiced movements of his fingers, he focuses to push other threads carefully out of the way in order to get a better look.

When more of the intricate cross-hatching design is revealed, Draco’s eyes widen in awe. It’s stunning and more complicated than even the wards that protect the Estate. He hopes that he will not be expected to untangle any part of it because he doesn’t even know where he would begin.     

“Very good, Draco.” he hears his Faðir say beside him and Draco preens at the praise. His Faðir waves a hand and a cave is revealed to his eyes. “A secret path to Asgard lies just beyond this entrance.” His Faðir takes his hand and leads him inside.

His eyes strain to see in the darkness within for only a moment before his Faðir conjures a ball of glowing green light in his other hand. A great cavern filled with stalactites, beautiful and intimidating all at once, greets them. They go through the maze of tunnels and come to a precipice. Standing on the edge, Draco looks down at the yawing darkness and seemingly bottomless pit that lies beyond. His heart begins to race and he squeezes his Faðir’s hand.

His Faðir crouches down and wraps his arms around Draco.

“Do not be afraid, little dragon.” His Faðir says.

And suddenly they are falling head first.

Draco clamps his mouth shut so as not to scream in fright as he pushes down his instinctual panic. He repeats his Faðir’s words in his head and frantically reminds himself that nothing can hurt him when he’s with his Faðir. He clutches tightly to the arms surrounding him. It seems as if they have been falling forever when he feels his Faðir’s seiðr surround them.

The world shifts and twists.

One moment they are in complete darkness and the next it is blindingly bright. Draco realizes that he’s now looking up into the sky.

It’s a strange feeling to be falling downwards and then abruptly have gravity assert itself in a different direction. Draco is still expecting to land on his head, contrary to the fact that he is parallel to the ground. His body is so confused. All he knows is that he’s still falling and the ground is getting closer and he can’t make himself land on his feet. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the impact.

But the impact never comes.

They’ve stopped falling. His Faðir gently lowers him onto his feet, but keeps his arms on Draco’s shoulders while he finds his balance. He’s a little dizzy and nauseous, so he keeps his eyes closed as he tries not to vomit.

After some time, he feels his breathing slow back down and his heartbeat returns to normal. He hugs his Faðir tightly.

“That was _awful_ , Faðir.” Draco pouts.

 

 

 

 

**Author’s Notes:**

 

Regarding Asgardian fashion and gender stereotypes - I was inspired to adopt (haha) theories from this [Blog Post](http://www.miriamjoywrites.com/2013/11/14/loki-gender-and-costume-design-in-thor-the-dark-world/) which observes that women's clothing in MCU Asgard have asymmetrical cuts and that Loki's clothes have elements of asymmetry shows he doesn't care about Asgardian gender stereotypes.

Little Draco in Asgardian Armor artwork by [@raellemacrae](https://www.instagram.com/raellemacrae/)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you to everyone who's left kudos~! I would love to hear what people think of the story so far and answer any questions people might have. Questions are great because they help me think through the story better. And for those of you looking forward to seeing Loki take Draco to Diagon Alley to prepare for his first year at Hogwarts, it looks like that part of the story will probably happen at around Chapter 6. 
> 
> @krazeelegal on Tumblr - follow me for updates, drabbles, etc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in Asgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~! And thank you to everyone who's left kudos <3 I also really appreciate the comments and questions I'm getting! It's really encouraging to know that people are enjoying the story. I'm actually not that happy with the way this chapter turned out, but I still hope that you like it. 
> 
> As always, shout out to my wonderful beta reader, Kidor <3
> 
> @krazeelegal on Tumblr

 

Moments after his Faðir teleports them to just outside the palace, two large ravens swoop in from the sky and perch on a branch above them.

“Huginn. Muninn.” His Faðir greets the pair amiably, “Please let the Allfather know that I have returned and need to discuss an important matter with him.” He casts a meaningful glance at Draco. The ravens turn their heads to focus on him, their eyes rapidly dilating and contracting in interest. Draco feels like they are trying to stare into his very soul and clutches his Faðir’s hand tighter. Huginn and Muninn ruffle their feathers in amusement. One of the ravens clicks his tongue against his beak while the other tips his head downward. Then, they both chatter softly before flying off.  

“It is time, Draco.” His Faðir says as he releases his hand and starts to walk towards the palace.

Draco’s heart races as they approach the massive golden gates. He feels like nothing he’s learned could have prepared him for this. It’s more incredible than words in books can describe. Even Faðir’s illusions, which filled entire rooms during their lessons, couldn’t convey the magnitude of it. The majestic golden spires reach into the sky and overwhelm the landscape.

 _“Don’t gape, little dragon.”_ His Faðir’s voice speaks in his head.

 _“Sorry, Faðir.”_ Draco sheepishly thinks in reply.

 _“And none of that, either. Stand proudly and walk boldly. Just as a prince of Asgard should.”_ It is a gentle reprimand, meant to be an encouragement just as much as an admonition.   

Draco is mindful of his Faðir’s words and does his best not to gawk at the overwhelming opulence. Every surface is adorned with intricate and exquisite designs. He tries not to let amazement show on his face as the crowds part easily for them and the Einherjar palace guard allows them pass without a word. Draco does his best to keep his face neutral as he’s been taught when he sees people bowing respectfully out of the corner of his eye. _Everyone_ knows who his Faðir is. It gives him a heady feeling of importance and a confidence to his steps. He feels like he’s finally starting to really understand what his Faðir was trying to tell him about being royalty.       

Once they arrive at the entrance to the throne room, however, Draco feels a new rush of anxiety as they approach the massive golden dais upon which Odin Allfather, the King of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms, sits.

His Faðir slows his steps and makes his strides shorter so that Draco can easily match pace. Their procession towards the throne for an audience with the King seems to take forever and yet Draco still feels like everything is moving so fast. He is dizzy with nervous energy. Draco finds the calm needed to maintain his composure from his Faðir’s reassuring words, repeating in his head like a mantra.     

As they get closer, he can see Queen Frigga standing regally by Odin’s side, adorned in a flowing gown of gold. The Mighty Thor stands next to the Queen, in his shining armor with Mjølnir - the legendary war-hammer forged in the heart of a dying star - hanging at his side. Draco takes in the sight of them and tries to comprehend that these legendary figures are his Faðir’s father, mother, and brother. He doesn’t know quite what to make of that fact, but Draco hopes it means that they are his family too.

 

* * *

 

“Allfather, Allmother, I would like to present the child of my seiðr, the son of my heart - Draco Lokison.”

Loki notes that Odin looks even more serious than usual, his brow furrowed as if Loki has brought him some troubling news. The youngest Prince suddenly having progeny is rather unexpected. Loki hopes that his Father’s expression is not because Draco’s existence has effectively decreased Loki’s usefulness in potential alliances through political marriage. The very thought of Odin’s disapproval of Draco on those grounds stirs turbulent emotions within him, so Loki sets the thought aside and tucks it neatly away. Compartmentalization has always been as easy as breathing for him.

A brief look at his mother is enough to see that her eyes are shining with happiness. Loki’s heart warms at her barely restrained glee. He knew she would react this way. She always understood him best.   

Thor looks confused, but that's neither surprising nor unusual.

Loki lets his declaration of Draco’s identity sink in for a moment before continuing:  

“Due to a rather unexpected incident while I was passing through Midgard -- ” he begins and a few shocked whispers that ripple through the gathered crowd of nobles at his statement. Thor looks strangely surprised that Loki had traveled to a ‘forbidden’ realm. Loki wants to roll his eyes. Technically, it is only forbidden to “interfere” with the lives of mortals, but Loki’s visits to Midgard have been completely harmless. It’s not as if he tried to do anything like invade and conquer the mortals after all. He refrains from showing any annoyance and continues smoothly.

The Allfather and Allmother, at least, look completely unperturbed.

“My magic was called to this child at the moment of his conception. He is not born of my flesh or blood, but he is born of my magic. His mortal mother did not survive his birth and his mortal sire was… unfit to care for a child. As such, I have claimed him as my own earlier than expected.”

“Unfit to care for the child, you say?” Odin’s eye seems to twinkle a bit as Loki simply nods once in response to his question, unable hold back a frown at the memory of the abuse his little dragon suffered. “I see,” The Allfather says. Loki catches a fleeting upturn of the corner the mouth so brief Loki thinks it might have been imagined.

“And despite the fact that this child is not truly of your blood -- not born Asgardian, but born to the realm of Midgard -- you still wish to claim him as yours, my son?” Odin asks.

Loki blinks at the unexpected endearment during a formal proceeding and decides impulsively to return the affection, too warmed by the gesture to think very deeply on his next words.

“Aye, Father. I am certain.”

Odin’s face softens for a fraction of a second and Loki wouldn't have caught it if he weren't already searching for an explanation for Odin-King’s unusual behavior. It's gone in less than an instant before Odin puts the stoic expression back in place and makes his official proclamation.  “Then, I hereby accept Draco Lokison as a member of the royal family, heir to my youngest child, Prince Loki. Kin in every way that matters. Let no one dare question his legitimacy, or else face pain of punishment for treason.”

Loki can almost hear the sound of jaws dropping. A few of the nobles aren’t able to hold back their gasps of surprise at the serious implications of Odin’s decree. Not to mention the fact that there was absolutely no argument on the matter. Odin made no inquiry about why Loki was on Midgard or conduct examination on the character of Draco’s seiðr. Only a single question was asked of Loki before the Allfather’s decision was made. A single question asking if this was what Loki wished.

He is absolutely stunned and words escape his silver tongue for the first time in his memory.  

Loki had hoped to obtain some measure of acceptance for Draco, but he hadn’t dared dream that Odin would go this far. The Allfather’s stern tone leaves no mistake that the half-mortal boy from Midgard who Loki has brought before his King and Father has been accepted unconditionally and is protected absolutely. No one will dare call Draco a bastard or question his right to be in Asgard overtly. Loki imagines there will be quite a lot of talk, but he’s been gifted the right to demand punishment of any public insult that might be said against his son’s origins. His little dragon is now an Asgardian in all the ways that he can be.

Loki does not expect the happiness and relief that rushes through him. It is so powerful that his usually neutral expression falters and he can’t help but look at Odin with gratitude. The Allfather returns Loki’s look with something that startles Loki even further… He can scarcely believe it and it makes no sense, but there's no doubt. He's seen that look on the Allfather too many times to count, but in all his memories it was never directed at him. Always Thor. But, in this moment, it is unequivocally for him -- his father's look of pride.

“Thank you.” Loki finally manages to breathe.  

“In three days time, we shall feast in honor of my new grandson!” Odin declares and cheers echo through the throne room. 

 

* * *

 

When the formality of court is concluded, Frigga maintains decorum only as long as it takes for the throne room to clear. The instant the door closes behind the last person, she rushes over and sweeps Draco into her arms, exclaiming, “I finally have a grandchild to spoil! And a little mage at that!”

In all his life, Draco has never known family beyond Lucius Malfoy, and then, for the last year, his Faðir. He remembers the friends he had had once talking about brothers, sisters, mothers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. Draco understands the concepts, but he has no frame of reference in his own experiences to truly grasp the meaning of having that much family. For instance, he knew that his Faðir has a brother named Thor, but he doesn’t know what that means, not really, because he’s never had a brother. He’s imagined it, of course. Draco imagined it when he found that book with stories about Slepnir and he imagined having Odin’s steed as a brother before his Fadir explained that those stories were wrong and Slepnir was a magical construct. He knows, intellectually, that his Fadir’s parents are Odin and Frigga which make them Draco’s grandparents. But he doesn’t really _know_.

So it is that Draco is completely unprepared for Frigga’s warm arms around him, cooing at him and saying what a handsome grandson he is.

He’s been given hugs before, of course. Even if he’d not received many hugs while at Malfoy Manor, in the time since he has come to live at the Odinson Estate he has never felt any lack of affection from his Faðir. But this feels different somehow. Draco has never asked about his mother. All he knew was that he didn’t have one. But suddenly being in Frigga’s tender and loving embrace, he thinks that perhaps this is what it feels like.

He melts.

Frigga pulls back just far enough to kiss Draco’s forehead and then folds her arms around him to give an affectionate squeeze. “Welcome to Asgard, little prince.” she says sweetly. “I am your grandmother.” Frigga stands up and takes Draco's hand in hers and then puts her arm in Odin’s. “We shall take our mid-day meal in the north gardens.” she declares and begins to walk in that direction. Draco casts a quick glance over his shoulder to his Faðir and sees him give a reassuring nod.

 

* * *

 

Now that the shock of his Father’s decree is starting to wear off, Loki’s mind is realigning expectations and considering possibilities as he follows his father and mother obediently to the north gardens. They will be in Asgard for at least the next three days until the celebration feast, but should they stay longer than that? And while he is ecstatic to have gained the optimum status for Draco, with such advantages come disadvantages and Loki must prepare accordingly. It isn’t the first time he’s pondered the potential dangers to the child of his magic, but it’s the first time he’s had the right context to make concrete plans in anticipation of them. He is yanked from his thoughts when Thor slaps a hand on his back.

“Loki! You have been gone too long from these halls! And I am so pleased to have a nephew!” Thor booms cheerfully as he affectionately clasps the back of Loki’s neck with a broad hand. Loki smiles fondly at his brother, relieved that Thor too has accepted Draco so easily.  

“But, Brother, he is so tiny!” Thor exclaims in a mix of awed curiosity and concern.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Thor, he is only a child.”

 

 

The next morning, after an early breakfast with Odin and Frigga, Loki keeps Draco to his usual routine and takes him to the royal library after breakfast for the day’s instruction. Draco is excited and curious, spending a good ten minutes running around the library looking at all the different sections before finally settling down with Loki in one of the quiet alcoves he’s always favored. Draco leans up against Loki’s side reading a book of Vanir fables that he’s chosen for his free reading time while Loki leafs through ancient scrolls detailing the First War with the Dark Elves. It is peaceful and Loki silently thanks the Norns for the moment.    

Not even an hour passes before Thor finds them.

“Loki! Draco!” The all too familiar voice of his brother echos loudly in the quiet space. And Loki knows that look on Thor’s face. He knows exactly what his brother is there to ask before his lips can start to form the words.

“Thor,” Loki says through gritted teeth, “Draco engages in the training of the body in the afternoon _after_ he has trained his mind.”

“But surely, Brother, exception can be made! The Warriors Three and Lady Sif are there now!”

Draco’s eyes light up at that and Loki feels his resolve weaken.

“In exchange for a morning sparring in Asgard, you will have an afternoon of economics lessons and an afternoon of nothing but mathematics.” Loki bargains with the boy. Draco’s brow furrows as he thinks it over (because Loki has taught him the importance of carefully considering such things). After a moment, the boy nods to himself having made his decision.

“Yes, Faðir. I will.” Draco promises solemnly.

Loki raises an eyebrow at his son’s answer. “As you wish, little dragon. But know that the deal you’ve just struck is purely to satisfy your impatience as we would have done just as Thor proposes not 3 hours from now. Remember that when you mourn the work ahead and lament your fate.” He feels he must emphasize this for Draco and turn this unfortunate situation into a teaching opportunity.

“Loki, you are too serious!” Thor criticizes with an amused grin and Loki holds back a snarl. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly to calm himself. Loki has always been patient with Thor’s demands, but this feels different. He glares at Thor.

“We’ll meet you in the training yard, then.” Loki says before he teleports away with Draco.

 -

When they appear in the training yard, Draco immediately runs up to Sif with a bright smile. No doubt because of all the tales he’s told the boy about how Helga Hufflepuff reminded him of her. Loki realizes that he’s probably told Draco more stories about Sif than anyone else.   

“You’re the Fierce Shield Maiden, Lady Sif!” Draco exclaims. The boy’s enthusiasm takes Sif completely by surprise. No doubt, Draco’s surprising sociability makes a sharp contrast to the quiet boy that Loki was when they were all younger. To Loki’s amusement, Sif looks to Loki with some confusion before Draco’s excited words draw her attention to him again.

“You’ve fought beside my Faðir and Uncle Thor!”

Sif glances at Loki uncertainly, likely wondering what tales he’s told of their battles, then simply nods in response. Loki marvels at how the young boy has absolutely no hesitation when talking to strangers. The irony that he should have such an extroverted son when he himself so cherished solitude only increases his awe at the miracle that is his little dragon. For Loki, Draco represents limitless opportunities and endless possibilities.   

“Can I...can I call you ‘Aunt Sif’? _Please?_ ” Draco pleads and, oh, how Loki knows that look. He’d succumbed to those large eyes a couple of times before the familiarity of it granted him a fragile immunity which still threatens to fail him occasionally.   

Loki almost bursts into laughter at Sif’s shocked reaction. Only Draco would ask such an outrageously soft thing of the shield maiden whose savage skill in battle has earned her a place in the Mighty Thor’s entourage. She hesitates a moment, but not even Sif is ruthless enough to crush the hopefulness in the boy’s earnest eyes.

“Of course, Prince Draco.” she says with a soft smile and Draco throws his arms around her waist.

“Good Lady Sif, I thank you for your indulgence.” Loki says and bows slightly to acknowledge the kindness that she has just shown to his son. When he straightens, their eyes meet and Sif is looking at Loki as if she’s seeing him for the first time. And perhaps, in a way, she is. Sif’s never seen Loki as a parent afterall.

-

When Thor finally arrives, Loki continues to watch from a short distance away. While his heart warms at seeing his brother correcting Draco’s strikes, Loki’s body unconsciously tenses. Thor could accidentally hurt Draco. Is he even able to understand how fragile a half-mortal child is compared to an adult Aesir? Thor has a great many skills, but empathy is not one of them.

The true source of his apprehension, however, is that the Warriors of Asgard are ignorant to ways of those who wield magic in battle. So few mages of substantial power exist in the realm. As powerful as Odin-Allfather’s seiðr is, he is renowned more for his combat skill despite possessing magical abilities so potent and powerful that they were known as the Odin Force. The Allfather could flatten armies with his magic as easily as waving his spear Gungnir. Without a doubt, pulverizing an enemy head-on was something all Asgardian Warriors could comprehend and admire.

But where the King of Asgard used his magic to level the battlefield by destroying it, its youngest prince leveled the battlefield with his seiðr so that even the strongest opponents easily fell before him. It was not as direct, not as simple, not as straightforward; yet, Loki was just as effective and deadly as Thor in a fight. Even if Loki’s combat style was so much more nuanced and far less appreciated, he decided long ago that he didn’t care. It made perfect sense to him that he should take any advantage he could on the battlefield.

So even though he is expecting it, when Thor makes an offhand comment, something about tricks not being honorable, Loki is suddenly possessed with a blinding rage that is impossible for him to hide.

“Draco!” Loki shouts out, causing everyone to freeze at the sudden anger radiating from Thor’s usually complacent little brother.

“Y-yes, Faðir?” Draco squeaks.

“I am sending you back to our apartments. Clean yourself up. I will be there shortly.” Loki instructs, waiving his hand to teleport Draco away before the boy can make any acknowledgment.

Loki turns his back on Thor, uncertain that he will be able to restrain his ire if he sees the bewildered look on his brother’s face that he knows is there. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to restore the usual calm demeanor Thor and their friends are used to seeing on him, but he cannot hold back from berating his golden brother.

“Draco will learn every trick there is in order to survive his battles, I'll teach him to wield unpredictability like the finest weapon ever forged to keep him safe. You do not get to make judgments in this, Thor.” Loki says coldly. But then his tone becomes sharper and more menacing with his next words as his barely contained fury bubbles to the surface. “When you have a child whom your enemies might _murder_ in order to gain advantage over you, then you can talk to me about what you think is proper. When the possibility exists that your child could be gutted so that _his_ _entrails_ can be used to bind you, then talk to me of honor and tell me what you would not do to keep your child safe.”

Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three say nothing in response, doubtless too stunned by his words.

Loki teleports away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golden Apples and a heart to heart with Frigga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I have been so blown away by the response to the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos! Your support and encouragement means so much to me <3 When I first outlined the story, I really didn't think I'd be writing so many scenes in Asgard and it's been really challenging but also very rewarding. 
> 
> Unfortunately, life has been super busy and hectic of late and a bit of writer's block caught me off guard. As such, this update is shorter than planned. I had wanted to include scenes from the feast in this chapter, but ran out of time. But, I figured that a short update would be better than no update at all. My apologies and I hope to have a longer chapter update next time!
> 
> As always, thank you to Kidor for catching various things like extra words that I meant to delete but somehow forgot :)

 

Idunn’s apples are more and less than the myths mortals have created around them. They are indeed a component of Asgardian constitution, but they do not grant immortality. Even without the apples, the Aesir are simply longer lived than the mortals of Midgard. The miraculous fruit actually works to bolster the DNA and bring out the best possibilities of their genome -- Asgardian strength, durability, and longevity is the result. One rare occasion, some notable members of the other races within the Nine Realms have been gifted with a Golden Apple in the sole discretion of the Allfather, but no mortal could ever be allowed the same honor. In the case of a Midgardian, consuming even a taste of an apple would forcibly re-write the human DNA to become something more like Aesir; a process which carries virtually no chance of survival for any mortal who would dare attempt to eat the fruit. But, because Draco carries Loki’s magic and is only _half_ -mortal, his little dragon is an exception to the rule. With just Loki’s seiðr, Draco’s lifespan would far outlast any magical mortal of Midgard; but with Idunn’s apples, Draco will obtain the longevity of an Aesir along with increased strength.  

The process cannot occur all at once, however, and must be delicately undertaken.

Idunn greets them cordially when they arrive at her orchard having already received word of the Allfather’s decree.

“Faðir! Who is that beautiful lady?” the little blond boy whispers loudly in the way that children often do with an awestruck expression on his face. Idunn looks to be easily charmed by Draco’s innocent admiration. Where Sif was rendered helplessly confused, Idunn appears hopelessly besotted.   

Loki chuckles “That, my little dragon, is Idunn.”

Draco’s eyes go wide. “She’s the Keeper of the Golden Apples!” he blurts excitedly.

“That is correct, Draco Lokison.” Idunn says as she crouches down to look at the boy. “Welcome to my orchard.”

The little boy freezes with his mouth agape at the sudden proximity.  

“Hello Idunn.” Loki greets.

“Hello Loki. Your son is quite charming. And beautiful.” Draco squeaks adorably at Idunn’s assessment. “What in the Nine Realms did you do for the Norns to favor you so?” Idunn finishes with a sardonic undertone.

“I would never presume so much. Perhaps they simply share my sense of humor.” Loki shrugs and Idunn’s smile starts to resemble a grimace. She never did approve of any of Loki’s pranks. “In any event, I don’t wish to take you from your duties any longer than necessary. You know what I’ve come for.”

“Indeed.” And with that Idunn presents a Golden Apple to Loki.

After taking the Apple in hand, he twists his magic around it, condensing it down into its very essence. The shimmering liquid floats into the glass bottle that Loki has conjured specifically for holding these precious contents. Though the child will not even be given a bite of one of Idunn’s Apples for many years, Loki will give Draco a drop of Golden Apple Essence once they are back at the palace. There’s no way to predict exactly how Draco’s body will react, but it’s beyond important. It’s vital.

 

* * *

 

Visions of the future did not solely come to Frigga as gifts from the Norns through her dreams. The Queen of Asgard possessed an insight that was uncanny. Instinctively, she saw patterns in emotions and behavior as easily as she saw the patterns in her weavings. From those patterns she could naturally discern a great many things with a remarkable level of accuracy. (When Frigga had heard about Loki’s outburst at Thor the day after her new grandson arrived in Asgard she was only surprised that it did not happen sooner).

The Allmother is a fighter because every Asgardian is a fighter, but her nature is that of healer and her passion is that of peacemaker. Frigga’s greatest strengths are her intuition and empathy. She is devoted to her family and deeply feels the suffering of those she holds dear as her own -- it is her blessing and her curse.  

So when her grandson is given a drop of Golden Apple Essence, waves of anguish and distress hit her like a thousand needles. A howling maelstrom of magic reaches out and resonates with her own as she feels an echo of Draco’s physical agony as her own. Frigga doesn’t have to imagine what it was like for Loki because because his heartache and guilt over his son’s pain touches her as well. She clutches at her chest and doubles over where she is sitting, her weaver’s distaff falling to the floor.  

Once she catches her breath, she immediately goes to Loki’s apartments. She finds her youngest son sitting next to the bed where her grandson lies unconscious, recovering from the effects of the concentrated magic he has been given. Loki is wringing his hands in the same nervous habit that Frigga finds herself doing in times of stress. Even as he looks up when she enters, his eyes are lost in thought.

“My little Loki.” The endearment snaps him out of his daze and he scoffs incredulously at it.

“Oh, hush,” Frigga chides, ”you’ll always be my baby. You’ll see in time. Draco will still be your little dragon when he’s 1,000 years old.” Frigga comes to stand beside Loki and puts her hand on his shoulder. “You are a wonderful parent to him, I am proud of you, my little Loki.”

Loki’s smile appears in a slow burst of delight. It’s one of his rarer open smiles, free of care and filled with genuine warmth.

“It’s only because you loved me so well, Mother.” he compliments and his smile tilts easily into his familiar confident smirk.

“Ah, my Loki, what am I to do? A mother is not supposed to have favorites but then you go and say things like that.” she teases lightly. Frigga sees his smile falter slightly and she knows her youngest son’s insecurities are preying upon his mind. She’s watched him his whole life and knows that Loki is complex and full of contradictions, sometimes idealistic and cynical in the same breath.

Frigga did, in truth, love both her sons equally and, because of her love, she treated them both differently.

For Thor, she was a pillar of unwavering support. Her intuition told her that too many limitations would be taken as disbelief in his abilities and would create self-doubt in her oldest boy. From the time he could walk, Thor seemed always to be testing his abilities and pushing his capabilities -- He’d jump off furniture, run as fast and as far he could, lift any large object he could find, and climb things endlessly. He wanted to be in charge and in control of himself, even when he wasn’t really big enough to do it. And where others may have seen ingratitude (certainly, Loki has always thought Thor ungrateful for everything he ever received), she saw a child who was forever looking to the next challenge. Though Thor lived in the present, he was ever focused on the future.

When it came to Loki, Frigga saw her role as more complex because he was more complex.

Thor was not simple, simply straightforward. Where Thor was a natural born leader, Loki was neither truly leader nor follower, but observer instead. She had worried sometimes that he would get lost in a world of illusion because he seemed to spend so much time in his head. But as much time as he spent in a haze of thought, he also spent an equal amount of time being fiercely observant. When he wasn’t lost in thought, he was always searching for deeper meaning in everything.

What her youngest son needed most from her was not freedom, but space to be himself.

But Thor’s noisy presence demanded attention whereas Loki’s more quiet demeanor made it more difficult to know when he needed attention and when he needed to be left alone. Frigga knew she erred regularly in ascertaining his moods -- Loki would never show when he was hurt by anything.

“Of course, you love both your sons the same, even if you do not treat us so.” Loki says with a hint of bitterness that Frigga is able to perceive only because she knows him so well. Frigga frowns but before she can reassure her son he continues. “No, it’s alright, Mother.” he sighs, “I didn’t...understand that before, but I think I’m starting to understand now.”

Loki pauses as he looks down at Draco’s sleeping form and places his hand on the top of his son’s head.

“Children are such a wonder. You want to teach them, but then they wind up teaching you. You love them more than anything only to be astonished by their unconditional love. They trust you unequivocally...and then you hurt them because it’s for their own good.” Loki closes his eyes and exhales deeply. “It was the worst thing imaginable to see him in such agony, Mother. It turned my stomach to know it was my decision to make him suffer because it was _best_.”

“You do your best, hope it is enough, and accept that you will sometimes fall short.” she says tenderly.

Neither speak for a while after that. The quiet stretches, but it is comfortable. Frigga, too, is fluent in silence. They’ve always been able to sit in stillness together. Loki absorbs the emotions of those around him, Frigga mirrors them. In these moments, they balance each other perfectly. But where Loki was indirect, Frigga preferred directness. Frigga decides to broach the issue of Loki’s outburst the other day. Ever the peacemaker, she resolved to do what she can to help Loki reach an understanding, if not with Thor, then at least with himself. She knows it’s not just about Thor’s careless words the other day nor Draco’s current condition after having been given the Golden Apple Essence -- she knows her son and knows the turns of his tangled thoughts.

“Just because it can happen, it doesn’t mean that it will, Loki. Your son is now protected as a Prince of Asgard.” She tries to reassure him, but he still says nothing. Frigga takes in his subtle facial expressions and hears everything he doesn't say in words.

“You were younger than Draco when you fell from a tree, into a lake, and then nearly drowned. The healers made you stay in bed for days. I remember how Thor cried constantly because he had failed to protect his baby brother.”   

Loki frowns. “Yes, I was following him up the tree as I recall. One of many examples of the torment I’ve endured for the love of my brother, of the sacrifices I’ve made for Thor’s happiness.” Despite resentment present in his voice, Frigga knows that Loki loved his brother and loved being the closest one to Thor. Even if it was often stressful for him, Loki still liked being pulled along on Thor’s adventures because it made him feel special and wanted.

“Thor was...an assertive child.” Frigga comments, “but I did not bring that story up to talk about Thor…”

“Didn’t you? It’s always about Thor.” Loki grumbles.

“I brought it up because I felt helpless, much in the same way that you feel right now. And to reassure you that what you are feeling is all part of being a parent.”

Loki chokes in surprise at her words and looks up at her with such vulnerability that her heart aches at the sight. He is over a thousand years old but Loki might as well be a boy of 10 to Frigga’s eyes.

Loki is distraught in the uncertainty.

Loki is terrified of failing.

He suddenly has something very precious to protect and it feels like the whole world is against him. Frigga suspects that on some deeper subconscious level, Loki likely feels betrayed by Thor. Even if Loki might know logically that Thor can’t possibly comprehend the dangers which Loki fears, the fact that his golden brother who has ever been a steadfast protector doesn’t understand makes him feel alone and abandoned. Frigga understands the fragility of Loki’s deeply buried emotions, the facades he put up for everyone else around him. Where others saw his masks, Frigga could always see straight to the heart of her baby boy.

She puts her arms around him and holds him firmly without a word. Frigga tries to be what she’s always hoped to be to Loki: a sanctuary of acceptance and understanding where he could be seen and known.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~! What did you all think of Frigga and Loki's heart to heart? I didn't get a chance to edit that scene as much as I usually do, so I hope it was cohesive!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s first Asgardian feast and returning to Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in the update. Life has been a bit hectic recently. To make up for it, I’ve been working hard to do a double chapter update for this week! Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments, they really brighten my day~! And much love to my ever-vigilant beta Kidor who, like Heimdall protects the way to Asgard, takes very seriously her duty to protect you all from my bad typos and spontaneous tense switching.

_“My little dragon, this will not be pleasant, but it is necessary. No matter what happens, do not fear.”_

_Draco can taste the magic of the Golden Apple when it falls onto the tip of his tongue. For an instant, it’s the sweetest and most delicious flavor he’s ever known before it feels like his body has burst into flames. There’s so much pain. It’s as if a fire is consuming him. He opens his mouth to scream but no sound comes out. It feels like his lungs are burning and won’t even take in air. And then everything goes dark._

He wakes up with his Faðir and grandmother at his bedside. They fuss over him and ask him how he’s feeling.

Draco doesn’t feel any differently. In fact, he feels completely fine. Still…

“Faðir, that was _awful_ .” Draco pouts. “Will I have to do that again?” And even though he knows the answer, he asks because just wants to be _sure_.

His Faðir gives him a hug and says against his temple, “I’m sorry, my little dragon, but yes. It will get easier and you’ll grow stronger over time.” He pulls away to look into Draco’s eyes, “I would not make you endure this if it was not important. Do you understand?”

Draco nods in response and hugs his Faðir back.    

“You were so brave, little one! You did so well!” His grandmother praises and reaches over to grasp his hand. “Now, you have your first Asgardian feast to attend and someone has told me that you play the horkenhorn! Would you please give us a song or two tonight?”

Draco nods eagerly, “Yes, grandmother!” and practically leaps out of bed.   

He _loves_ the horkenhorn.

 

Draco will never forget the first time his Faðir brought him to the music room of the Estate and told him to pick an instrument to learn. Among all the familiar instruments he already knew about was a large golden instrument which resembled a more complicated version of a french horn. It was far more intricate than any brasswind he’d ever seen before with a labyrinthine body of slides, keys, and valves. The double bells were adorned with finely detailed ornamental etchings which ensnared the eye with its beautiful intricacy.

_“Faðir! What is that?” he had enquired eagerly as he ran up to it._

_“Ah. The horkenhorn. It is a traditional Asgardian instrument. Quite the challenge to learn because of the focus it requires to create the balance needed. And only a mage is able to bring forth its full potential.”_

_“Could I learn to play it, Faðir?”_

_“If that is what you wish, little dragon. I learned the basics of it when I was your age. I never seemed to get along with the horkenhorn, however.”_

_“You didn’t like it? But_ why _?” he asked with concern._

_His Faðir smiled and picked up the horkenhorn. “If it interests you, then why should my experience with it matter? You will need to discover the instrument for yourself and my opinion would provide no guidance in this. Now, the first thing is how to hold it...”_

When his Faðir first played a song on the horkenhorn for him, Draco was absolutely mesmerized from the moment he heard the rich notes it produced. It sounded like a french horn the way a chocolate bar tasted like a chocolate cake -- the same in essence but so much more complex. The dulcet sounds which flowed from the horkenhorn felt almost tangible and filled him with glee. And then, suddenly, the séðir in the room coalesced into several luminescent spheres. They flew around him in and moved in sync with the music. Draco had laughed in delight and clapped his hands in glee.

The horkenhorn didn’t just play the most wondrous music Draco had ever heard, it also generated magical overtones which could be channeled into harmonic illusions. His Faðir explained that it took strength and precision to balance both the physical and magical vibrations, that it was like trying to play two melodies at once using only one instrument. Additionally, the magical overtones could easily overwhelm the melody when there wasn’t enough focus or control. But when balance was achieved and those vibrations were in phase, they would reinforce each other and create the most enchanting music.

Though the horkenhorn generated a base for illusions, Draco learned that it wasn’t at all like the weaving of threads of séðir in precise cross hatchery. It was more like painting -- of merging and blending the colors together. The magical vibrations were like different textures that synthesized in different ways to create illusions that harmonized with the music. And somehow, the illusions made the music even more euphonious.

At the start of his lessons, his Faðir had impressed upon him that learning the horkenhorn would require strength of core, precise breath control, and dexterity of the fingers.

Draco practiced diligently and was thrilled to find that playing the instrument came almost naturally to him. He soon found out, however, that the most difficult part about learning the horkenhorn was the mental discipline it required. It was necessary to always be control of your emotional state while playing it. Letting your mind wander would bring forth unintended illusions that could range from ridiculous to terrifying. One of the first songs Draco had learned was so sad and melancholy that his thoughts drifted to his lonely life at Malfoy Manor. When his mind wandered, the soft hovering lights turned into terrifying flashes of bright yellow -- the same color of the curse that hit him the day his Faðir had come for him. Draco had became frightened when the sounds of the horkenhorn had darkened and rumbled ominously.

Still, Draco was memorized by the potential of what it could do, of the potential for the beauty it could create, and the challenge of learning to master it. And especially because it was from Asgard.

 

* * *

 

The celebration hall is filled to capacity and all the best fare has been brought out. The sights and smells of the feast bring a sense of warm familiarity to Loki. Even if he’s been reluctant at times to attend the feasts of Asgard as part of his obligations, they occupied a large space in his memories. It was easy enough to blend into the background amidst all the revelry unless Thor called for him to recount tales of their adventures with his famous silver tongue. Though many had forgotten, it was in this very hall where Loki had truly earned the name silvertongue. Before he earned a reputation as a trickster who lied with the truth, he was known for the way he enraptured the halls with his gift for storytelling.

Loki did so love holding an audience in thrall by the power of his words. He knew exactly what to emphasize, what to embellish, and what to leave out. He would make the audience light up with laughter by sarcastically making light of a dire situation or make them gasp in surprise at some unexpected twist he’d hold back until just the right moment. It was amusing to control the narrative and watch the crowd hold their breath at his dramatic pauses. And it was pure satisfaction when he could move an audience to tears. Loki loved knowing exactly how to tell a story in order to evoke exactly the emotions he wanted.

In their youth, Thor had the terrible habit of interrupting his storytelling frequently to correct his version of events, which took away the momentum he was orchestrating. Such detractions always ruined the tale that Loki was spinning. Thor was of the belief that a good story required accuracy. After repeated fights wherein Loki scolded Thor for trying to improve a tale by interjecting unnecessary details about their battles, his too forthright brother finally accepted that Loki’s version of a tale was always the best version.

These days, Loki did not perform his role as storyteller often. At most, he’d only give a single tale from their youth on only one night out of the several nights that a feast would last. He had developed the habit of retiring early in the evenings during these feasts, weary from being dragged along for his brother’s exploits -- ventures which seemed more for Thor’s self-satisfaction now and less about the adventuresome spirit they had as young warriors. But when he did choose to oblige to a request from his brother or one of the Warriors Three, it was the only time that Loki felt fully at ease during these events.

Watching Draco play the horkenhorn now, he is pleased to see that familiar captivation in the faces of the crowd. It’s quite akin to the kind Loki has the power to create through words. When his little dragon started playing, there were looks of surprise at the first rich and brassy notes. The conversation in the room quickly died down to listen to their newest prince play the Asgardian instrument few ever mastered. Draco had chosen an old battle anthem to play, but his prodigious skill is evident even in the familiar chorus which warriors would hum around campfires. The polyphonic instrument comes to life in his hands in a way it never had for Loki.

Loki thought the horkenhorn itself a selfish instrument, demanding too much of one’s emotions to create the phantasmagorical overtones to the melody. So greedy was the horkenhorn for its’ musician’s love. When he had tried to learn to play it in his youth, Loki had fought with the emotional component required for mastery of it and rebelled against the feeling of being so exposed. Loki had never been able to fully open up enough to breathe life into the musical performance the way it demanded. But Draco was a natural at the instrument -- his little dragon had a thirst to experience everything and was therefore willing to give everything in order to obtain the levels of artistry he pursued.

Midway through, the melody slows down from its frenzied beginning to reflect the lull between battles during a war and the anticipation of waiting for the last and final exciting push. It is also somewhat of a lament for those who have fallen and received the glory of meeting death in battle. The bright golden illusions accompanying the song, dim to a somber pewter and still their movements. Just as Loki would artfully pause in his storytelling, Draco just as masterfully commands the pauses in the music.

 _The silence between the notes have meaning_ , he’d told Draco.

The Queen is so moved that she starts to sing. Her voice and magic adds more resonance for the horkenhorn and Draco channels the additional energy prodigiously, transforming the hovering lights into a beautiful silver cascade around the Queen. Gasps of delight are heard in response.

By the finale of the song, which crescendos excitingly, the entire hall is singing and pounding on the tables rhythmically. Golden shadows shaped like cavalry charges and warriors swinging their weapons in attack fly around the hall in a brilliant display. The applause and roaring cheers are deafening. Loki can’t even hear his own voice in the cacophony. After the final note is played, Draco raises his fist and yells in triumph and in camaraderie with all those in the hall. Odin and Frigga look so pleased.

Loki has never felt so much pride.

Perhaps it’s due to too much mead or maybe it’s due to the emotions incited by Draco’s performance, but several look over to Loki and raise a glass to him that night. Even Sif gives Loki a smile that is so warm and happy that Loki’s first thought is that Thor is standing behind him. But, no, Thor is still seated at the other end of the table, avoiding eye-contact with Loki and sulking in that prideful way that he does when the two of them are at odds.

As the revelry goes on, Draco’s sociability shines. He roams the hall chattering happily with everyone from servants to nobles. Children are a rarity on Asgard as their longevity comes with a commensurately low birthrate. That fact, coupled with his status as their newest prince, makes it unsurprising that Draco can hold their attention so easily with his simple curious questions. Loki also observes that Thor is hovering around Draco and has been placing random portions of food on his plate.

“You must eat your full so that you can grow strong, nephew!” Thor’s voice blares as he sets a large chunk of meat in front of Draco.

“But, Uncle Thor, I think I ate my full 3 plates ago…” Draco responds, looking slightly ill. Loki rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what Thor is thinking and annoyed that his brother’s guilt may wind up making Draco sick on the first night of the feast. He walks over to rescue the boy from Thor’s good intentions.

 

* * *

 

A week later, the celebration feast winds down. And then, a few days after that, Loki and Draco are preparing to return to Midgard. Loki estimates that they’ll spend less than half of their time at the Odinson Estate now that Draco has been granted status as a prince of Asgard. Loki promises Frigga that they will come back soon and that their next stay will be longer. And Odin has hinted at sending him to lead a diplomatic delegation to Vanaheim to hear the terms of a new trade treaty. It is surprising given that such a task would typically fall to Frigga due to her ties to that realm. Loki can’t explain this sudden attention, but thinks that perhaps it was his extended time away from Asgard of late which has precipitated the Allfather’s whims. Still, regardless of the reason, it is gratifying that his skills outside of battle are finally being recognized.

Thor is already at the Bifrost when they arrive. He stands slightly behind Heimdall with arms crossed and shoulders slumped. Since Loki’s tirade at the sparring grounds a week ago, Thor has lingered at the edges of Loki’s orbit but has avoided speaking to him. Loki knows his brother’s typical approach to problem solving relies on using brute force. But this is not a problem that can be solved by going to war or killing some frost giants, so Thor is uncertain. His prideful golden brother ducks his head and looks away rather than acknowledge his presence.  

Draco has barely dismounted his horse when he’s running up to the stoic Heimdall.

“You’re Heimdall! Gatekeeper of Asgard! The All-Seeing Sentry of the Bifrost!” Draco says rather loudly in his excitement and then pauses before asking in a more normal volume, “Why didn’t you come to the feast?”

“I was here at my post, Prince Draco. It is my sacred duty as the gatekeeper of this realm. I never leave it.”

“Never _ever_?” Draco questions skeptically.

The sentry simply shakes his head.

“That sounds so boring.” Draco concludes with all the wisdom of his 8 years of life.

Heimdall chuckles in amusement, “With so much to see and hear, Prince Draco, there is no boredom in my vigilance.”  

“But, isn’t it lonely to be out here alone all the time? Who do you talk to?” the boy asks.

Heimdall raises an eyebrow at Draco’s query just as Thor interjects.

“All who seek to use the Bifrost must call out to Heimdall. And, what use it is to tell him tales of our adventures when he has already seen them?” Thor offers lightly.

Draco frowns thoughtfully as they walk towards the Bifrost before his expression sharpens into one of seriousness. “I’ll talk to you, Heimdall! So be sure to listen!”

Heimdall’s eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise before he responds, “Of course, my prince. I will hear you wherever you are.”  

Draco is practically vibrating with excitement when they enter the Bifrost. When it begins to spin and glow, he makes a face like he just remembered something and runs over to Thor.

“Bye, Uncle Thor!” he says and then throws his arms around him. “See you next time!” Draco skips back to Loki’s side and they turn towards where the portal will form.

“Loki,” Thor calls out and the seriousness in his voice makes him turn around. “I will not let any harm befall my nephew. I will protect Draco with my life. And anyone who would dare threaten him will meet a swift end.” his brother pledges solemnity.  

Loki sighs, then gives his brother a small nod before taking hold of Draco’s hand to lead him through the Bifrost’s portal.

It is not an apology, but it is enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The horkenhorn is a completely made up instrument prompted by my friend Chip who requested that Draco learn to play some “lore appropriate instrument.” I imagine that the main melody of the song that Draco plays on the horkenhorn sounds something like the track titled “Asgard” and the softer middle section with Frigga’s singing sounds like the “Lokasenna” on the Thor 2 soundtrack. I’m curious to know what you thought of it and would love to hear especially from anyone with musical experience (as I have pretty much none and had to wikipedia what overtones were haha).
> 
> Thank you again for reading and please look forward to Chapter 7 which will be posted soon! I really hadn't expected to write so many scenes in Asgard, but they have been a lot of fun and I hope you enjoyed them. What was your favorite part of Draco visiting Asgard? Is there anything you wished you could have seen more of? 
> 
> Next chapter: Diagon Alley!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some exposition on the Wizarding World; Draco meets Harry at Madam Malkin's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments! I really appreciate that you take the time to do that <3 And thank you to my beta, Kidor~
> 
> Also, now that the story is moving on from Asgard, please note that characters who do not know Allspeak will hear Draco say “Father” if a scene is written from their POV.

 

The Wizarding World of Midgard exists in small extradimensional pockets like which occupy only a small space in the physical world of the non-magical mortals. Something as simple as a brick wall, for example, serves as anchor and access point to the rest of the space which actually exists a few ticks removed from the default dimension. All over the realm, the various communities of the mortals born to magic remained hidden from the rest of their world through these bubbles of reality. The Odinson Estate exists in the same manner, albeit modified with Loki’s magic to have multiple anchors and access points across Midgard.

It would not be wholly inaccurate to compare the Wizarding World to the Amish communities of the non-magical peoples of this realm. Almost 400 years ago, the International Confederation of Wizards determined that all contact with those not naturally born with magic -- even those who had learned some other form of magic -- would be regulated. So it was that the Wizarding World cut itself off from any magic not its own. For the sake of safety along with a sense of pride and pureblood doctrinal beliefs, it was decided centuries ago to keep their society isolated from the rest of their world, even those with whom they shared magic in common. Yet, there was no rumspringa for the young witches and wizards who had just come of age as there was for Amish youth. After three generations, even the knowledge of magic other than that taught in Wizarding schools became known only at the highest levels of government. Only the elites knew of the Midgardian magicians and sorcerers who learned to channel universal energies and whatnot. In the Wizarding World, the very idea that there was magic which could be performed by mortals who had not received a magical inheritance was ridiculed as a conspiracy theory.

Loki had educated Draco on these matters and more, of course. He had strictly cautioned the boy against revealing information outside the common knowledge of the mortals of Midgard, magical and non-magical alike. The boy had thought it an injustice at first. It had helped to explain that such things were inherent in learning the rules of _the game_ \-- context determined the role played and the persona projected in all situations. Auspiciously, Draco was adaptable and spontaneous enough to embrace this perspective. Such suspension of belief and compartmentalization of knowledge of the Nine Realms was necessary to operate in Midgard without violating the All-Father’s decree of non-interference.  

Loki has built numerous aliases across the realms and the Wizarding World of Midgard is no exception. The Odinson name has been established in it for a over a thousand years as a wealthy and prestigious, if a bit reclusive, wizarding family based out of Scandinavia with estates in the most prominent wizarding communities such as London and New York. Overall, Loki finds that it is much less fuss than being around non-magical mortals of Midgard.

It's in these wizarding communities that Loki can move about more freely and be less discreet with his magic during his visits to Midgard. A simple illusion makes his teleportation appear as the ‘apparition’ that these magical mortals use. His Asgardian clothing is accepted as the traditional wizarding robes of Scandinavia (he should know since he started their fashion trends centuries ago). Wizarding shops have their uses, even if somewhat limited, so Loki is no stranger to Diagon Alley.

Draco, on the other hand, is.

Since Loki had become cognizant of Draco’s extroversion, the two of them have traveled to many places in Midgard. Loki has taken the boy to both the magical and non-magical cities of the realm. Draco loved new experiences the way that Loki loved learning about new things. Therefore, in anticipation of the ritual of procuring supplies in preparation for Draco’s first year at Hogwarts, Loki has never brought Draco to this particular shopping district until today. The wonder that fills the boy’s eyes when he sees Diagon Alley for the first time is priceless.

His little dragon is now 11 years old, by the Midgardian calendar, and has received his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Though Draco is actually closer to 13 years old due to the time they have spent in Asgard, the magic of the Golden Apple Essence has already slowed his aging slightly and he is still _physically_  only about 11 years of age. His slowed aging isn’t so much of a change that it cannot be offset easily. Loki calculates that so long as Draco spends time in Asgard during his breaks, he will appear to age normally to his Midgardian schoolmates.

The accompanying enhancements granted by said magic are also more noticeable now, but not enough to raise suspicion amongst the mortals. Draco is unusually strong when compared with a mortal, but not unnaturally so. It will be a few more years yet before his strength reaches super-human levels.

And it isn’t enough. Though Draco has received some benefit from the magic of the Golden Apples and has improved much in his combat abilities, it is not enough that Loki would risk the boy’s safety by bringing him to a realm other than Midgard or Asgard. When Loki's duties call him to other realms, Draco was always left in the care of Frigga. The potential of threats in the form of the political, magical, and personal enemies Loki has accumulated over the centuries represented too great a threat. Only the fact that he has laid the foundations of Hogwarts’ protections himself gives him peace of mind enough to allow his little dragon to be so far from his presence for so long.   

 

* * *

 

Their first stop is Madam Malkin’s.

As soon as the seamstress saw Loki, she had remarked apologetically that she didn’t carry any Scandinavian wizarding robes. And then Draco had poked his head out from behind Loki and announced cheerfully that he would be starting at Hogwarts. A flicker of recognition passed over her face at the sight of Draco and she tensed before calling over an assistant to fit him for his Hogwarts robes.

“Faðir, why do some robes look like dresses and some look like really big coats?” asks Draco from atop a footstool while the shop assistant pins up his long black robes. Since they arrived in the shop, the boy has been asking question after question about the wizarding robes he’s been seeing in Diagon Alley. In all their journeys, Draco has always shown a fascination for the different types of attire that the mortals of Midgard wear. Asgardian clothing didn’t have so many deviations and iterations as the varied styles in Midgard. The child has mostly worn Asgardian tunics and leathers except for the times they’ve had to blend in when visiting non-magical cities. Without a doubt, Draco is elated about the novelty of getting robes for school.

“The more traditional robes are relatively unchanged from the 15th century. The more tailored style of robes, like the ones of Hogwarts you are to be fitted for, arose as trousers became more popular.” Loki explains.

Just then, Madam Malkin comes back and stands a boy with messy hair and glasses who looks about Draco’s age onto a stool next to him. She slips a long robe over the other boy’s head, and begins to pin it to the right length. Loki recognizes the boy at once, but Draco seems more interested in the fact that there is another boy his age he can talk to. Draco’s never had much interest for the noteworthy events of Midgardian history from the past 50 years and has always showed a clear preference for his lessons about ancient civilizations, so it isn’t too surprising. Still, Loki mentally sighs at his son’s inability to recognize one of the most famous personalities of the Wizarding World in the past century.

“Hello, Hogwarts too?” Draco asks the boy next to him.

 

* * *

 

Harry had been nervous since entering the shop which Hagrid had gestured to before going off to the Leaky Cauldron to recover from the Gringotts cart ride. He really didn’t want to have to do this alone, but Hagrid did look a bit sick. The man had rescued him from the Dursley's plan to keep him from learning that he was a wizard and Harry didn’t want to impose by insisting that Hagrid accompany him. The thought of acting like a demanding spoiled brat like his cousin Dudley made his stomach lurch.

When the pale blond boy had greeted him, Harry was filled with equal parts of excitement and dread. He didn’t have any friends, but in this new world of magic he keenly felt the possibility of it. Hope warred with apprehension. Harry was still new to this world and felt insecure in his ignorance of it.

“Yes.” he answered meekly.

"Wizarding robes are a bit weird, aren't they? They're like...really big cloak-coats." The other boy says while waving his arms to make the large sleeves of his robe flap around in emphasis. It makes Harry chuckle a little, but he makes no comment since he’s still not quite sure what to say about anything to do with being a wizard. He wondered if his normal clothes were out of place here -- if his oversized hand-me-downs marked him as much as an outsider to wizards as they did to his school mates who looked at him with scorn and pity.

“Do you know what House you want to be sorted into at Hogwarts?” the pale boy inquired.

“No.” Harry replies honestly. Hagrid isn’t here to explain things to him. His teeth begin to hurt and he realizes that he’s clenched his jaw tightly. The question assumes that he knows and Harry feels stupid. He feels foolish at the thought of trying to guess at what the other boy is talking about. _It sounds like it’s a simple thing that everyone should know_ , he thinks _._ His nails dig into his palms. Harry wishes he could say something interesting. _Useless_ , he silently berates himself.

The boy on the stool meets his eyes in the mirror and Harry thinks he’s never met anyone with gray eyes before. He quickly looks away, self-conscious and not wanting to stare.

“Oh! You have green eyes like my Father!” the other boy enthuses, drawing Harry’s attention back to the mirror. “He’s…” he looks around and then finishes offhandedly, “here somewhere.” The gray-eyed boy regards him for a moment and then grins and says, “That’s alright, I don’t know either.” At the other boy’s admission, Harry feels himself relax slightly. He doesn’t want this boy to look at him like he’s stupid. So, if the blond boy doesn’t know, then it’s probably fine that Harry doesn’t know either.

“I’ve never actually been to Diagon Alley before.” the other boy says.

“Oh, it’s my first time here too!” Harry says with some relief. _Finally_ , Harry thinks, _something we have in common_.

“I’m Draco Odinson. What’s your name?”

Before he can answer, Madam Malkin says, “That’s you done, my dear.” and he hops down from the footstool.

Harry hesitates. He could use this as an excuse stop talking. If he stays, then he might get asked about more things he doesn’t know. Harry could leave right now and avoid another question that could make him look stupid. He can simply say that he needs to leave. And if he doesn't say his name, then Harry can avoid that unsettling feeling that strangers somehow knew more about his life than he did.   

As if it wasn’t enough to discover that magic was real and he was a wizard, this morning Hagrid had told him that Harry was famous.

It was overwhelming to deal with while he was still struggling to understand how this new world worked. The people Harry met today reacted strangely to hearing his name. They stared at his scar and their eyes regarded him with expectations that he couldn’t understand. Everyone at the Leaky Cauldron had wanted to shake his hand. Repeatedly. Suddenly having people crowd around him so closely had been uncomfortable. He didn’t want Draco to do any of that. Harry wasn’t used to being the center of attention and didn’t like how focused that attention was; it made him feel like he couldn’t think, only react. Harry felt so helpless in his ignorance.

But Harry’s never been one to overthink or submit to the whims of his feelings. In his experience, putting the needs of others above his own was always the quickest and surest path to acceptance, so he’d learned to disregard his own feelings. He also didn’t believe in making decisions based on such temporary, fleeting things. Harry generally tried to ignore that he even had them for the most part because he didn’t trust them. There were other things that were more reliable, like logic and reason.  

And there’s something -- a sort of sincerity in the other boy -- that pulls at Harry.

He looks back at Draco and says quietly, “Harry Potter.” bracing for some sort of reaction.

Draco simply extends his hand with a warm smile and eyes that did not ask for anything other than friendship. Harry had felt a tumult of emotions since waking up this morning and realizing Hagrid’s visit had not been a dream: happiness, wonder, confusion, surprise, uncertainty, excitement. Yet, for the first time since learning he was a wizard, Harry suddenly feels at ease.

“Nice to meet you, Harry!” Draco says brightly as they shake hands. He’s finished his fitting now as well and Harry takes in the other boy’s unusual clothing that was previously hidden under the robe. He’s seen a lot of strange clothing today, but there’s something that makes it stand out all its own. It’s mostly leather for one thing. And it has bits of gold metal here and there which look decorative but also protective.    

“My Father’s taking me shopping for my school supplies. Do you have someone to help you around?”

“Yes, but he got a bit sick from the Gringotts carts and went to the Leaky Cauldron to recover.” he says with a glance at the window to check if Hagrid’s come back, “I thought he’d be back by now.”

“Draco, we can wait with your new friend for his guardian to return.” he hears a cool voice from behind him say.

He turns around and sees a tall man with elegant features dressed in the same kind of clothing as Draco. He’s wearing a long leather coat, one of the sleeves textured with diagonal weaving. He smiles kindly at Harry and introduces himself.

“Hello, Mr. Potter. I am Loki Odinson, Draco’s father.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry introduced himself, his name sounded familiar to Draco, like it was part of some important story he’d read. But after a brief moment of trying to recall where he’d heard it, he shrugged it off. He loves meeting new people and he’s rarely had the opportunity to meet anyone his own age.

He’d brought up Hogwarts Houses earlier because he’s never talked to anyone his own age about Hogwarts Houses and he can’t help but wonder what colors will trim his new robes once he finally gets sorted. But since Harry seemed less than enthusiastic about his question, Draco decided not to push the subject and has instead been asking Harry about his favorite things. Though the topics seem mundane, the conversation is still interesting to Draco. Finding out _why_ people thought the things they did was fun. They debated the merits of steak versus chicken for a bit before it turned into a discussion of what they liked most about each season. Best of all, Harry seems to become more animated and Draco feels a sense of accomplishment at being able to draw the other boy out of his self-consciousness.

After they have been standing outside with Harry for what seems like a long while, Draco thinks that he wants to get on with his school supply shopping, but he also doesn’t want to part from his new friend.

He comes up with the most brilliant solution.

“You should come along with us! Diagon Alley isn’t that big, so your friend will be able to find you.” Draco turns to his Faðir and gives his most pleading look, making his eyes as big as possible and sticking his lower lip out in a pout. “Please, Faðir, can he come along with us? _Please_?”

His Faðir, thankfully, looks amused. Draco knows from experience that increases his chances of getting his way.

“Draco, perhaps we should ask your new friend what he’d like to do?” his Faðir asks.

He turns to Harry expectantly and says, “You don’t really want to stand here waiting who knows how long all by yourself, do you?”

“I…” Harry begins hesitantly, “I would like that… if… it’s not too much of a bother to have me along?”

“Of course it’s not! Right, Faðir?”

His Faðir chuckles, “Not at all. In fact, your company would be most welcome, Mr. Potter.” and gives a knowing smile.

Harry ducks his head shyly and says “Thank you.”

Draco realizes that his Faðir must know who Harry is. He’ll have to ask later. He doesn’t want Harry to think he doesn’t know anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a bit of trouble setting up Harry's personality the way that I have it in my head, so I wanted to write a little blurb about it here: Because of the way he was treated growing up, I see Harry as having a tendency to disregard his feelings because he needed to fly under the radar to survive the Durselys. Plus, he's been isolated for so long that he's not used to attention. Suddenly being scrutinized instead of being ignored would be very stressful. Of course, he still wants to be loved and accepted, but he's been conditioned to feel like he needs to be useful in order to earn that. While he was living with the Durselys, he learned what "useful" meant and knowing what was expected of him kept him relatively safe. So, suddenly being met with a whole community expecting things from him that he doesn't understand triggers a lot of anxiety.
> 
> Also, as part of my writing process, I've tried to think of the characters in terms of MBTI/Enneagram personality profiles ('cause I'm a nerd haha). For Harry, I see him as a ISTP/Enneagram Type 8. So, there's that too. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> @krazeelegal on tumblr - follow me for updates, drabbles, and other random things like how I imagine the character's personality profiles ^_^


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My apologies for the brief delay in getting this update out, but I hope the slightly longer length makes up for it. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave kudos and comments! I love hearing what people think of the story~ And as always, a big thank you to my beta Kidor who helpfully points out when I’ve misplaced words and spaces and punctuation ^_^ 
> 
> And, speaking of Kidor, here’s a quick note from her~
> 
> B/N: Kaiya is writing the chapters decently quickly, which is part of why C6 and C7 were posted so soon after each other, and C9 is almost done so that might be posted soon. A chapter every other Monday is going to be the minimum goal and probably the average speed of chapters, but if the muse is happy chapters might come sooner. Which is why posting questions in the comments is so important, because they get Kaiya thinking and writing. You might not get the answer right away so as to not have spoilers in the comments, but those questions might add to the story. Like how Stargirl1061’s comment on C7 inspired more scenes in C9.

It’s a bit like trying to guide curious kittens along a winding path.

Loki herds the chattering boys over to Flourish & Blotts. They are having a lively debate about which vegetable is the worst tasting until Draco’s attention is diverted to the sights of Diagon Alley. He begins pointing at things exuberantly and asking about the things he doesn’t know. Harry doesn’t ask any questions, but Loki recognizes that the boy's eyes are keenly observing the marketplace.

Once in the bookstore, the required texts are easy enough to find. A pair of older witches in the store stare at them and whisper, but they look away quickly when Loki turns his gaze on them. Four years is not enough time for people to have forgotten all the rumors surrounding Draco’s change of status and his white-blond hair is distinctive of his mortal origins. Still, most of the disquieted glances sent their way since they have arrived in Diagon Alley have been more discreet.        

Draco lingers in the transfiguration section, flipping through some advanced texts. He’s likely pondering how much of his innate shapeshifting abilities will aid in his study of the subject.

“Draco, you must first start with _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_. It’s best to keep things consistent at Hogwarts.” Loki remarks.

Pursed lips and a sharp nod indicates that Draco has recognized Loki’s meaning. He’s pleased that his little dragon has been paying more attention to his “at Hogwarts” statements lately which are, for all intents and purposes, the rules that Draco is to follow while receiving his wizarding education. His latest statement to keep things consistent is a prohibition against shapeshifting. It really wouldn’t do for Draco to suddenly start shifting into his animal forms with ease when these magical mortals of Midgard require years of study simply to achieve one form.       

 

* * *

 

Harry is so glad he met Draco and Mr. Odinson. They are engaging but at the same time give him plenty of space. It’s calming. Since Draco is asking so many questions and Mr. Odinson is very thorough in his responses, he doesn’t struggle to ask to have things explained. Harry is content to listen to their conversation while he takes in all the interesting sights of this new world.

He thought that the bookstore had to be the most uninteresting part of Diagon Alley. Harry was thankful to get that out of the way first. He dreaded reading assignments that went on forever about things that weren’t interesting. Harry liked learning how to _do_ things, not just learning about them. He knew that Hogwarts would be different from primary school since he’d be learning to do magic. Still, ‘ _A History of Magic_ ’ and ‘ _Magical Theory’_ looked like doom.  

When they walk into Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, Draco wrinkles his nose at the unique smell of the place while Harry looks around the store, intrigued at all the different items for sale. Bottles and vials of all shapes, sizes, and colors fill the shelves. There’s an entire wall filled with strange and exotic plants. Off to the side, Harry sees a counter where shop clerks are using scales to measure powders and tiny crystals.  

“I think it would be a good idea to send you off to school with a few basic ingredients so that you can practice potions brewing outside of class.” Mr. Odinson informs them as he flips through their first year potions textbook, ‘ _Magical Drafts and Potions_ ’.

Draco looks mildly horrified. “But, Father, why would I want to do that?” he whines. Harry reflexively cringes at the tone. He doesn’t like the feelings it stirs up. Harry takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this is Draco, not Dudley. This is Mr. Odinson, not Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They haven’t ignored or belittled him. They’re nice people. He’s perfectly _fine_.     

He sees Mr. Odinson raise an eyebrow at Draco before he begins to lecture in that same patient tone that sounds so strange and foreign to Harry, “Draco, potions is a subject learned through experience. There is much you can read about it, but some things you can only truly master by doing. If you only learned to follow potions recipes, then that would be the same as mindlessly regurgitating facts from a textbook. Absolutely abhorrent.” The man shakes his head in mild exasperation, then looks at both of them. Draco’s face falls and he looks unconvinced, but Mr. Odinson’s words have captured Harry’s full attention. Harry’s never met an adult who took so much time to give reasons for the things they tell you to do. It’s so strange. But it’s…nice.   

And something inside Harry lights up at the thought of creating magical potions.

Mr. Odinson picks up two shopping baskets and hands one of them to Harry as he continues, “Real knowledge of a subject such as this comes from creative experimentation and learning what works beyond a set of instructions.”

Harry feels a sudden excitement at the encouragement to make potions beyond the instructions laid out in a book. Taking formulas apart and putting them back together sounds incredible. He imagines himself experimenting like some sort of mad scientist. All the ingredients for sale in the shop suddenly seem even more fascinating.

Harry’s always loved figuring how things work.

When Mr. Odinson begins to gather several ingredients from the shelves, Harry follows with his empty shopping basket and picks up whatever Mr. Odinson does. It doesn’t take long before the man is grabbing extra vials and packets to put in Harry’s basket with a fond smile.

“You’ll have to read up on each of these ingredients before school starts so that you know their properties how they potentially interact with each other. While I’m certain no combination of these is likely to cause any life-threatening explosion, that is not to say that they are incapable of causing any explosion at all.” Mr. Odinson cautions as they finish their purchases. Harry nods and resolves to know everything there is to know about as many ingredients as he can before the term starts. He doesn’t want to blow himself up on accident.

After they leave the apothecary to go to Potage’s Cauldron Shop, Draco mumbles to Harry, “I mean, I don’t really understand why learning potions is so important. Why take Wideye Potion when you can just drink a strong bit of tea?”

“Draco, tea is not an antidote for Draught of the Living Death nor can it wake someone up after they’ve been drugged.” Mr. Odinson chides softly. Then, he leans in closer to them and says, “Neither can tea be used nearly as effectively in any potential pranks.”  

“Ohh… ” Draco breathes in response to this new piece of information about potions. He actually stops walking. Harry laughs and elbows his new friend’s side to get him moving again.

 

* * *

 

After they visit a few more shops, Draco realizes they’ve bought almost everything on the list.

“Magical Menagerie next?” he asks his Faðir.

“After the next shop, little dragon.” his Faðir replies as they turn towards a shabby, narrow shop.

When they walk into Ollivanders, the old wandmaker is caught off guard by whatever he senses from the Odinsons’ magical cores. The old shopkeeper stares blankly at the pair as he tries to understand what he is sensing even as his Faðir pushes Harry forward and clears his throat. When Mr. Ollivander’s eyes refocus on the boy standing in front of him, his whole demeanor suddenly changes.

“Ah yes,” says the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” The wandmaker eagerly measures his friend and goes through his inventory to find a wand for Harry.

 _He must know who Harry is too_ , Draco thinks. He tries again to recall where he’s heard the name Harry Potter and fails.

When Ollivander finally places the perfect match, the magical resonance that occurs when the wand connects with Harry’s core is incredible. It feels pure and purposeful. Even though it was on the list of Hogwarts supplies, Draco didn’t give getting a wand much thought because he's been doing magic for years without one. All the magical theory he’s learned hasn’t had anything to do with wands. His Faðir doesn’t even have one. He simply projects the illusion of a wand whenever they are around wizards and Draco assumed he’d be doing the same at Hogwarts.

But now, seeing Harry’s look of awe and contentment makes Draco suddenly wonder if he’ll get a wand too.

"Curious… very curious… " the wandmaker mutters as he looks at Harry seriously.

"Sorry, but what's curious?" Harry asks.

"I remember every single wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother… gave you that scar." Mr. Ollivander says gravely and looks at Harry’s forehead.

Harry swallows nervously and Draco feels a bubble of anger at the thought of someone hurting his friend. Mr. Ollivander continues his explanation in low tones.

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.” Draco sees Harry shiver.

In an instant, the dots connect: the story about a Dark Wizard whose name started with a “V”, defeated by a baby named Harry Potter.

“Oh! _That’s_ who you are!” Draco’s epiphany abruptly breaking the serious mood. He looks at Harry and giggles, “Sorry, I know you’re supposed to be famous and all, but…”

“But Draco’s never been able to pay attention to his History lessons whenever events were from the last century.” His Faðir says wryly.

Draco feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment, but he doesn’t deny it. He knows better than to try and lie to his Faðir.

“It is, however, one thing to know and quite another to needlessly concern yourself. Such matters are not for children to dwell upon.” his Faðir tuts and gives Mr. Ollivander a disapproving look.

 

* * *

 

In the hour or so since he’s met Harry Potter, Loki has come to understand much about the Boy-Who-Lived. While Loki cannot read minds directly, his ability to communicate telepathically makes it so that he can hear the most potent thoughts of people in close proximity to him. Strong emotions amplify thoughts enough for him to easily perceive them. Harry is quite good at hiding his apprehension. Loki is both impressed and troubled that a child of his age would have such tumultuous emotions veiled behind such a stoic surface.

Harry’s face shows only mild trepidation in response to Ollivander’s overdramatics. Yet anger, frustration, fear, and anxiety give such force to Harry’s thoughts that Loki can hear them as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud: _“How can they expect great things? I’m famous for something I don’t remember! I don’t even know what happened the night my parents died!”_ Harry’s thoughts howl.

Loki is about to give a harsh reprimand at the tactless ravings of the old wandmaker when Draco’s candid confession cuts the tension. He tempers his words only because he knows it will not help alleviate Harry’s uneasiness. Still, Loki makes his distaste for Ollivander’s actions clear.

“Faðir, am I getting a wand too?” Draco murmurs beside him.

Ollivander turns his large saucer-like eyes upon them and laments, “For the first time in my life I cannot guarantee that any wand in my inventory will be a match for the young Mr. Odinson. Your magical cores are… unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.” and peers at them curiously.

Loki sees Draco’s face fall and quickly corrects his little dragon’s disappointment, “It is of no consequence as I’ve already had one commissioned out of materials from our family’s homeland.” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “There are artisans who are familiar with our family’s unique magical traits.”

“Oh? I didn’t know there were any wandmakers who would be so specialized.” Ollivander remarks with a note of incredulity. “And I’ve never heard of a wand being made for wizard, because the wand—”

“You would not have heard of them, Mr. Ollivander. They are quite… selective about their projects as well as difficult to contact. Their methods are mysterious but unparalleled.” Loki says dismissively. “Now, I believe Mr. Potter is waiting for the transaction as to his wand.” he points out so that they can be on their way. In all the realms, only the magical mortals of Midgard are so dependent on a conduit for their magic. With such a lore constructed around the wands they are so desperately attached to, it will take the magical mortals a long time to develop their magic without the dependence. Another example of how the isolation of the wizarding communities from the rest of the possibilities of magic leaves them stagnant. Loki has no desire to waste any time listening to Ollivander’s miniscule comprehension of such matters.   

While Harry is counting out 7 gold galleons for his wand, Draco looks astonished as if apparently still processing the news that he will be getting a wand. Loki reaches out to ruffle the boy’s hair, “Don’t look so surprised, little dragon! You didn't think I'd let you go off to Hogwarts without a wand, did you? Draco, everyone knows that you cannot do magic at Hogwarts without a wand.”

The boy inhales sharply. “I understand, Faðir!” he says and looks up with an enormous smile. Loki thinks he’ll never tire of these moments and looks forward to seeing Draco’s reaction when he receives his wand.    

They had only stopped into Ollivander’s for Harry’s sake, however, Loki had planned to give the wand to his little dragon when they returned to the Estate that day. It has been custom crafted by the dwarves of Niðavellir to resonate with Draco’s magical core and is, in a word, exquisite. The wand is made from dark and flexible wood obtained from Idunn’s orchard. Spiraling around the wand is a delicate flourish made of uru that is purely Asgardian in aesthetic. Finally, the core is comprised of a feather each from Huginn and Muninn, wrapped tightly by a small séðir-infused braid made out of 4 strands of hair from the members of the Asgardian royal family. It is unusual in length — 14 inches — and seems like it would be too large for the small boy and yet Loki has a certainty that it will fit Draco very well.

 

* * *

 

“Faðir, can we go to the Magical Menagerie _now_?” Draco pleads. He turns to Harry and says “My Faðir said that I could pick a familiar to take with me to Hogwarts if I wanted, but I haven’t decided yet. I can use the Hogwarts owls to send letters, so maybe a puffskin, or a kneazle… ”

Loki smiles as Draco continues to rattle off the names of various magical creatures. His little dragon often becomes so engrossed with possibilities that making any final decision is a challenge.

“But, the letter from Hogwarts says ‘Students may also bring an owl, or a cat, or a toad.’ Would those even be allowed?” Harry asks with some skepticism.

“Hogwarts will allow any kind of familiar, so long as it is sufficiently tamed enough not to be a danger to the other students.” Loki reveals, “Salazar had a snake and Helga had a badger. The letter’s instructions are no doubt a way to create uniformity and administer Ministry bureaucracy. The power of suggestion, the implication of a rule, the illusion of a choice. It’s a common tactic: when you tell people they can have ‘A, B, or C’ how many would ask ‘what about X or Z?’”

Harry’s eyes widen in understanding as he takes in Loki’s words. It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that they crave subjugation. It’s almost as if it was their natural state to obey. It is no wonder that Midgard requires Asgard’s protection.

“Does that mean that Godric Gryffindor had a lion?” inquires Draco.

“Ah, no. Godric would turn into a lion.” The boys gasp in awe and Loki chuckles at the knowledge lost to the passage of time.

As soon as they set foot in the Magical Menagerie, Draco leads Harry over to look at the various magical creatures. When they get to the snake tanks, Harry starts talking to the reptiles.

“Hullo. How are you doing today?” he inquires. After a pause, Harry says, “I’m sorry to hear that. I can ask them to turn the heat up for you.” Loki recognizes that Harry is speaking parseltongue. Interesting.

Draco laughs, completely oblivious to Harry’s ability because Allspeak automatically allows him to hear Harry’s words in English. “What was that, Mr. Snake?” Draco manages through his laughter, “You’d very much like a tiny winter scarf? Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

Harry snorts in amusement and looks at Draco questioningly, “He didn’t say anything about needing a winter wardrobe… and how would a scarf on a snake even work?” then looks back at down at the tank and wonders out loud, “Do they even make clothes for snakes?”

The sudden sound of empty cages loudly crashing to the ground draws their attention. The shopkeeper stands a few feet away with the jumbled mess at his feet, his face drained of color and eyes filled with fright. He is pointing at Harry with a shaky finger and stammering, “P-p-parselmouth!”

Draco’s jaw drops. He turns to look at Harry and then whips his head towards Loki asking excitedly “Harry’s a parselmouth? Does this mean I can speak parseltongue too?!” at once realizing that his friend truly was speaking to the snake and that Allspeak allows him to understand Harry.

Loki smiles and explains, “No, little dragon, Allspeak doesn't work with animals. But, with some concentration, you might be able to speak to Harry in parseltongue. At present, you are merely speaking in Allspeak which comes out sounding like English to all the English speakers around you. It will take some practice to attune yourself to speaking a specific language at Hogwarts.”

“Allspeak?” Harry asks.

“It’s a magical language that runs in our family!” Draco explains proudly, “I can understand any language and people hear my speech in their first language. That’s why I could understand you when you were speaking parseltongue!”

“And… parseltongue?” Harry asks hesitantly, his eyes darting to the trembling shopkeeper. _“Why is the shopkeeper looking at me as if I’ve done something wrong?”_ his thoughts loudly project.

Hearing the boy’s frightened thoughts, the parental instincts honed from years of nurturing Draco compel Loki to reassure Harry. He crouches down, puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and looks him in the eye, “It is a very special gift that few wizards possess. Not everyone can speak to snakes, Harry.” He pauses and waits for the boy to nod in acknowledgement before he continues. “There are some who see it as a ‘dark gift’ but it is simply a magical ability — like Allspeak — and nothing more.” In response, Harry bows his head in quiet thoughtfulness.

“Let’s talk to more of them!” Draco squeals and yanks Harry’s arm to pull him towards a different snake tank.

Loki rises and turns towards the shopkeeper with narrowed eyes. A few swift steps and he’s nearly nose to nose with the man. “There is so much more reason to fear me than a mere child speaking a magical language.” he hisses quietly knowing that the boys are too far away and too distracted to hear. “Now, be a professional and put a pleasant smile on your face lest you frighten the boy any more with your dramatics.” The shopkeeper nods dumbly and starts to reorder the scattered cages.

As Harry makes conversation with various snakes, he seems to be drawn towards a silver serpent. It’s a rare magical snake — bred into existence about a century and a half ago from the horned serpent. The snake is young so it’s not very large, only about 20 centimeters in length, but has the potential to grow up to a meter. Though not as powerful as its horned ancestor, the breed has been known to develop hypnosis or invisibility. With its ice blue eyes and shimmering white and silver scales, the snake reminds Loki a bit of Draco when he shifts into this animal form.

 _“Faðir, can we buy that one? I want to give it to Harry.”_ Draco projects his thoughts at Loki telepathically.

_“Oh? Do you not want a familiar for yourself?”_

_“I really can’t decide Faðir… but Harry… he looks so_ happy _talking to that snake.”_ It’s an unexpected gesture on Draco’s part, but the boy has always demonstrated a surprising amount of empathy. _No doubt, his grandmother’s influence throughout the years_ , Loki thinks fondly.     

Harry is overwhelmed by the gift. The confusion in the boy’s eyes tugs at Loki’s heart.

Much to Loki’s amusement, Draco strongly hints that he thinks Jörmungandr is a great name for a snake (Jör for short, of course). Harry agrees.

 

They heading to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when Hagrid finally catches up to them. The large man greets Harry warmly, but then becomes guarded when he sees the Odinsons standing behind the boy. The large wizard looks at the pair with open suspicion.

Loki steps forward and introduces himself and Draco politely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~! 
> 
> My beta reader went on vacation and school's been busy for her so, the next chapter has been delayed a bit. But, it is written and will be posted as soon as she can get to it ^_^ Thank you so much for your continued patience. In the meantime, check out my tumblr blog for updates, drabbles, and other fun things related to this story~! 
> 
> krazeelegal . tumblr . com


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley - Part 3. This chapter features dialogue! Yes, it really does happen occasionally in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I want to take a moment to say how thankful I am that you are reading this story (which I own nothing of -insert standard fanfic disclaimer here-). Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments! I don’t know how long this story or series of stories will be, but I’m having a lot of fun writing this story and just wanted to thank you all for being part of the journey~! 
> 
> B/N: Everyone, I am really sorry this wasn’t out sooner. Kaiya was done writing it on the 17th and it took me til now to get around to proofreading it. And yes, when Hagrid speaks it is not correct, but that’s because it’s Hagrid talking. I like his character, but having to read his lines in the books is annoying. I’m just glad Kaiya was able to replicate how he talks so he could stay in character.
> 
>  _::italics::_ \-- parseltongue

Harry is relieved to see that Hagrid is feeling better and has been able to find them. Fortunately, they aren’t too far away from where he and the large wizard last parted ways.

“Hagrid! You found us!” He greets then gestures to the two people behind him, “This is my new friend and his father. I met them at the robe shop.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hagrid.” says Mr. Odinson with a charming smile as he extends a hand politely. “I am Loki Odinson and this is my son, Draco. He’ll be starting at Hogwarts this year with Mr. Potter. The boys appear to have become fast friends in the few hours since they’ve met.”

“When you didn’t come back, they helped me with the rest of my shopping. Oh, and look!” Harry carefully pulls Jör out from his sleeve, “This is Jör!”

“Errr…” Hagrid eyes the snake warily, “Why d’yeh get a snake?” and his eyes dart to the Odinsons dubiously.

“Because I can talk to snakes, Hagrid.” Harry explains cheerily.

“What're yeh…” Hagrid begins to ask, but then Harry decides to demonstrate.

:: _Jör, this is Hagrid_ :: Harry hisses to the snake in parseltongue. It lifts its body up seemingly to get a better look at the large wizard.

Hagrid looks like he’s received the shock of his life and immediately pulls Harry a few steps away from the main path. His large hand lays heavily on Harry’s shoulder as he looks around and then leans down to whisper, “Yer…” Hagrid pauses and takes an audible gulp before continuing, “Yer, a parselmouth?”

Instantly, Harry’s brows knit in worry and hurt. He was not expecting Hagrid to react this way. The first person he’s met from the magical world — the one who told him that he was special — is acting too much like the frightened shopkeeper at the news that he can speak to snakes. Harry’s mind whispers “ _freak_ ” and can’t bear to look into Hagrid’s horror-filled eyes any longer. He stares at the ground and reflexively starts to curl into himself.

“Mr. Hagrid, I believe you are frightening the boy.” Mr. Odinson’s calming voice halts Harry’s spiraling thoughts. And suddenly, Harry feels Draco at his side with a hand on the back of his neck. It’s cool and light in contrast to the warm and heavy hand upon his shoulder. It’s somehow comforting and Harry relaxes somewhat, but still cannot bring himself to look up.   

“It’s jus’...” Harry feels Hagrid lean back, and hears him still speaking in hushed tones, “what’ll people think? An’ yeh could wind up in Slytherin!” The mild panic in Hagrid’s voice is alarming, but Harry doesn’t know what to think because he doesn’t even know what a Slytherin is.

“What’s a…” he begins to voice his question when a loud sigh from Mr. Odinson makes him highly self-conscious about his ignorance of this new world he’s stepped into. Harry thinks that Mr. Odinson has finally run out of that abundant patience he’s demonstrated all afternoon. He knew that all his questions were annoying and regrets opening his mouth. It’s easy to recall Aunt Petunia’s reprimanding voice in his head, “ _Stupid boy! Don’t ask questions!_ ”

“Mr. Hagrid,” Mr. Odinson begins, and Harry can’t help but feel relief when he realises that the irritation is not actually directed at him, “What is wrong with Slytherin House?”

"Any house is better than Slytherin," says Hagrid darkly. “There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn' in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

At the same time Harry is gasping at this revelation, Mr. Odinson’s sudden laughter cuts through his shocked reaction. He finally looks up from the ground.       

“That’s not exactly accurate, Mr. Hagrid.” Mr. Odinson says with an amused smirk, “Historically, there is a roughly even distribution of Dark witches and wizards from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Hufflepuff has the fewest, but it still did have some.”

“A Hufflepuff Dark wizard? That don’ make any sense at’ll! Ev’ryone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers.” Hagrid protests.

“Oh, but I assure you it’s true, Mr. Hagrid.” Mr. Odinson insists. “One of Grindelwald’s most vicious lieutenants was a Hufflepuff. Loyalty is a very dangerous weapon depending on who wields it. And don’t forget that the Hufflepuff’s mascot is a honey badger. Ferocious creatures.” Harry sees Draco nodding emphatically at Mr. Odinson’s words.

“Never underestimate a badger.” He hears his friend whisper beside him.

“But Slytherins on’y care abou' power! You don’ want to be in a House like that, do yeh Harry?” Hagrid pleads.

“Once again, that’s not quite right, Mr. Hagrid. Slytherin House values ambition. It’s easy to mistake ambition for the desire for power. But if we’re speaking in those terms, I think that the true spirit of Slytherin House is about the power to influence rather than simply power for its own sake.”

“Well, that jus’ means they do anything to get what they wan’ then.”

Mr. Odinson hums thoughtfully before responding,“Slytherins _do_ also value cunning. They are painted as villains for the stereotype that they will use any means to achieve their ends, but perhaps they are simply the most creative at getting what they want.”

“An’ yeh know so much about Slytherins, do yeh? Yer one o’ ‘em, are yeh?” Hagrid accuses.

“No, I was never part of any Hogwarts House. The last time an Odinson was at Hogwarts was at the time of the school’s founding. My son, Draco, will be the first of our family there in many centuries. Of course, I do make it a point to know all I can about the place I will be sending my son to live for most of the year and receive a magical education. And I am certain Slytherin is not the only House where he could be exposed to Dark influences.”

Hagrid scoffs. “Oh really?”

“Indeed. Ravenclaw, for example. The danger of their so-called curiosity which accumulates knowledge as a compulsion is that it can result in Dark wizards like Grindelwald. You think he was the first to do Dark magic experiments on his fellow students? There has been more than one Ravenclaw over the centuries who fell into an obsession with Dark magic and saw the pursuit of it as equivalent to a pursuit of knowledge. Grindelwald may have attended Durmstrang, but make no mistake that he would have been in Ravenclaw had he gone to Hogwarts.”  

“That’s mad!” Hagrid bellows, “I can’ believe what yer sayin’! Yeh think Grindelwald would a’ bin a Ravenclaw? Dark wizards come from Slytherin! Ev’ryone knows—”

“That’s not true!” Draco suddenly shouts, “My Father already said that’s not true!”

Mr. Odinson looks at Draco sharply and says, “Draco! Do not interrupt. It is the height of hubris to believe that we are entitled to uninterrupted narration but refuse to grant the same to someone else. Apologies, Mr. Hagrid. Draco?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you, Mr. Hagrid.” he says reluctantly with arms crossed.

“I, uh,” Hagrid is momentarily disoriented by Mr. Odinson’s defense and the sudden de-escalation of the argument about Hogwarts Houses. “No harm done. Err, good on yeh ter listen ter yer da’.” and nods in Draco’s direction despite the fact that the boy is looking away petulantly.

“Please do continue, Mr. Hagrid.” Mr. Odinson says politely.

Hagrid sighs deeply. “Look, yeh seem like decent folk. An’ I’m sorry I worried yeh, Harry. I jus’ don’ wan’ Harry ter be in danger. With You-Know-Who bein’ a Slytherin. Well…” As his sentence trails off, Hagrid shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I understand.” Mr. Odinson nods. “The children of his followers are likely to be in Slytherin House as well. It’s a valid concern. That makes much more sense than simply saying any wizard or witch that goes bad must be from that House.” He steps closer and looks at Hagrid seriously, “Because, if my Draco or even Mr. Potter here gets sorted into Slytherin, would it necessarily follow that either of these eleven year old boys would become evil spontaneously?”

“Maybe not.” Hagrid concedes and sighs again. “But… a parselmouth… is…” he looks down gravely into Harry’s eyes, but something in his expression has shifted. Hagrid’s face is full of a concern that makes Harry feel lighter instead of heavier.

“Can’t you just accept Harry for who he is?” pleads Draco who immediately clasps both his hands over his mouth. He removes them just as quickly, squeaking “I’m sorry I interrupted again!” before covering his mouth again.

At that, Hagrid lets out a hearty laugh then looks down again, “I’m sorry, Harry. Yeh don’ have ter be ashamed of wha’ yeh are. Jus’ be yerself.” and gives him a solid pat on the back.

“And if you get sorted into Slytherin House, I’ll follow you there!” Draco declares. “I won’t let anyone hurt you!”

Mr. Odinson chuckles. “There is a slight flaw in your plan, little dragon.”

Draco pauses and seems to consider. “Oh! I’m to be sorted before you, Harry! It’s done by the rolls. Alphabetical order.”

“Well, I’ll just have to follow you then.” Harry reassures his friend. “Which House do you want to go to?”

“Well,” Draco begins, “Definitely not Ravenclaw. Oh, not because of what my Father said. It just always seemed boring, you know? I don’t want to spend all my time studying. Gryffindor sounds fun and I always thought Hufflepuff would be nice. Both seem like places where I could make lots of friends. And, I think Slytherin could be okay too.” he finishes and sends a mildly challenging glance Hagrid's way.

“So, ‘not Ravenclaw’?” Harry smirks.

“Ease yer minds, boys. The Sorting Hat’ll get yeh where yeh need ta be!” Hagrid says cheerfully.

“Yes,” Mr. Odinson says, “The Sorting Hat will help you make your choice at Hogwarts.”

Harry feels Draco flinch beside him. “Oh! I understand, Father! Thank you!” the blond boy exclaims while nodding happily.

 

* * *

 

After the tension of the earlier exchange, Harry finds the light conversation that follows as they all eat their ice cream cones a pleasant relief. Draco has learned that Hagrid is the gamekeeper at Hogwarts and has asked about a dozen questions about magical creatures. Hagrid has visibly warmed up to the Odinsons and even says some nice things about Jör, giving Harry some advice about how to care for him. When Hagrid checks the time and is surprised at how late in the day it is, he says he needs to get back to Hogwarts right away.

Harry’s stomach sinks. He’s not ready to go back yet. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to his new friend. The school term doesn’t start until September. Part of him wonders if the Dursleys will even take him to the train station when it’s time to go to Hogwarts. But he can’t impose on Hagrid anymore. Harry exhales deeply, fighting down the rush of anxiety.

There’s a cool hand on his shoulder and Mr. Odinson offers to escort Harry back to the train station in Hagrid’s stead. Hagrid thinks it’s a brilliant idea, all prior animosity completely forgotten. Harry is thankful for the extra time he gets to spend in this magical world.      

Hagrid gets up to leave and hands Harry an envelope. “Yer ticket fer Hogwarts. First o’ September, King’s Cross, it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, an’… Err, yeh don’ have an owl ter send me a letter, do yeh? I was thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ one fer yeh but…” He looks at Jör, “owls an’ snakes don’ get along too well. And yeh could on’y bring one of ‘em ter Hogwarts.”

“It would be unusual, but an intelligent owl with an even enough temperament could keep company with a snake. Particularly, if that snake is abiding by her master’s wishes for them to be allies.” Loki advises and then hones in on the part of Hagrid’s statements that Harry was hoping to ignore, “There are issues with these Dursleys?”

“My aunt and uncle took me to a remote island to try and get away from the owls which kept trying to deliver my Hogwarts letter. And so Hagrid had to go there to give it to me.” Harry says, not knowing what Hagrid might say. “When my uncle threw a fit, Hagrid gave my cousin a pig’s tail, and we just left. I’m sure they aren’t too happy with me right now.” he finishes and tries to keep his tone light.

Draco looks shocked, then thoughtful. “If I had an owl, she’d be be friends with Jör… and you could borrow her.” he offers.

“You said you didn’t need an owl because Hogwarts had them.” says Harry, uncomfortable at the gesture. Draco and Mr. Odinson have already given him Jör, he can’t possibly accept anything more from them.

"I wanted a familiar that was _special_. That’s why I couldn’t decide. But an owl that got along with Jör would be special. And how else would you write to me? Or Hagrid?” Draco implores, but Harry still doesn’t feel it’s appropriate to simply agree. “Besides,” Draco continues, “You should help pick a name for my owl since I helped you pick out Jör’s name. It’s what friends do!”

Harry feels the walls of his resistance crumble and nods before murmuring his assent.  

“Well tha’ settles tha’. Good ta’ meet yeh.” Hagrid gives a courteous nod to the Odinsons and then a cheerful wave as he walks off, “See yeh soon, Harry, Draco.”

 

* * *

  

Before they enter Eeylops Owl Emporium, Loki instructs Harry to have Jör rest openly around his neck. When they walk through the aisles of the shop, owls bat their wings frantically in fright or extend their wings in a show of aggression while darting their beaks between the bars of their cages. Harry and Draco huddle in closer together at all the commotion. They stop in front of an owl who is not exhibiting any of the expected reactions. It is a great snowy owl whose feathers are ruffled but is standing perfectly still.

“Ah, this one is observing; taking the time to assess and decide if Jör is predator or prey.” Loki says approvingly before addressing the owl directly, “Proud creature, these boys are friends and they expect their familiars to be cordial to each other. Are you amenable to that?” The large owl lifts a foot and stretches it, then puts it back down and lifts the other one in the same manner. Then, she looks at Draco and bows her head. Draco makes a noise full of amazement.

“It appears you have found your familiar, little dragon.” Loki says.

-

“I know you said you wanted help naming her, but I want to take some time to find a really good name for her.” Harry says after Loki purchases the owl and they exit the shop.

“Alright, Harry. But just remember to tell Jör to be nice to her!” Draco insists.

“Of course! They’ll be friends, just like we are!” Harry says with a happy grin.

As they make their way out of Diagon Alley, Loki muses on the potential for the friendship that Draco has struck with Harry. All afternoon, Loki’s intuitive mind has been processing the patterns of their personalities and prognosticating the possibilities. Draco and Harry interact with the world in different yet complementary ways. Harry’s words are deliberately thoughtful while Draco's thoughts are deliberately spoken. His little dragon’s compulsion to win others over draws Harry out of his introversion and Harry’s mindful contemplation slows Draco’s rapid reflections down. Loki has often cautioned Draco about the folly that could be born out of his indecision. Having a friend who tended towards pragmatism as Harry seemed inclined would be a boon to Draco. And Harry, it was clear, had been very much in need of the kind of lavish friendship which Draco seemed determined to give.

“Are you due back at home soon? Perhaps you can join us for dinner at the Estate?” asks Draco once they step out of the doors of the Leaky Cauldron.

“They really don’t want me back as much as it can be helped, I think. But, I can ring them at least and see what they say.” Harry suggests.

“Very well. There are public telephones at Paddington Station.” Loki agrees.

Once they locate a public phone, Harry places the call to his Uncle Vernon. The man yells furiously on the line that he doesn’t care if Harry ever comes back and berates Harry for Dudley’s condition. He says that Harry has never been wanted and will never be wanted. The words coming through the other end of the call are cruel. Harry’s expression remains neutral throughout the entire exchange even as all manner of insults are leveled at the boy.

“Well, looks like that’s that. Sounds like it’d be best for me to stay away as long as possible.” Harry says placidly, masking the torrential thrum of wordless emotions emanating from his apprehensive thoughts.

Something about the scene invokes Loki’s ire.

The fleeting nature of the mortal lifespan generally predisposes Loki to refrain from investing into any of them at all. He rarely becomes attached to mortals because their lives are so swift. Yet, every few centuries, there will be a mortal who is unique and special enough to garner his favor and protection. Someone whose potential is worth the sadness of their eventual parting. There were only a handful of mortals who lived on in Loki’s memories, but, in each one of them, Loki was content — gratified even — to help develop them to their full capability.     

And Loki finds that he is not opposed to Harry Potter being counted among their number.

“You know, Harry, you’d be welcome to stay as long as you want.” Loki offers, “It's only a month until the school term starts, why not spend it with us?”

Harry’s wide eyes are full of disbelief. Loki reaches down to pat his head fondly, “Draco and I would be honored to have your company. ”

There is no doubt that much damage has been done to a child so young. Loki knows that children become what they are told they are. He wonders what the Boy Who Lived could become under his influence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear what you thought of the deconstruction of the different Houses. This is a continuation of some of the exposition done in Chapter 2 about them. 
> 
> When I first imagined this discussion between Hagrid and Loki, it was one of the main things that made me want to write out this story. I love Hogwarts Houses, but I feel like they are a way to explore identity rather than define it. Not that there’s anything wrong with groups -- being around like-minded people is great and you can grow a lot around people who understand you. But like the various personality profiles I nerd out over, a House affiliation reveals something about the person, however, it doesn’t tell the whole story and it doesn’t tell *their* story. People are so marvelously unique~! The categories we come up with to sort ourselves into just aren’t enough to explain all our complexities. That’s why I really don’t like when groups become static boxes and was inspired to write a little bit about that in this story. 
> 
> Next chapter -- Harry spends a month at the Odinson Estate! What kinds of trouble, er, I mean fun do you think the boys will get up to?
> 
> Oh! And check out my tumblr blog for updates and drabbles~!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry spends some time at the Odinson estate and learns important life lessons from Loki. Without realizing, of course. Also, Harry saves Draco from almost theoretically killing himself via potion ingredients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My sincere apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Thank you so much for your patience! I had too many ideas and no direction. It all came out in a disorganized mess and I got frustrated every time I tried to turn it into a readable chapter. Any scenes that weren’t coming together right for this chapter will be posted as drabbles on my tumblr, and eventually here on AO3. I just wanted to get it posted and be able to move on with the story, so I hope it’s okay >_<;
> 
> My goal is to get back to the regular every other Monday(ish) schedule. The next 3 chapters are mostly written already so hopefully there won't be any delays. Thank you so much for the kudos and thank you to everyone who’s left comments and asks on my tumblr. I really appreciate your generous words~! Shout out to my beta Kidor who sweetly encouraged me through this hot mess of a chapter. She wasn’t able to proofread this whole chapter before I got too anxious to post it, so all typos are mine.
> 
> B/N: How to write fanfiction: Step 1, come up with an idea; step 2, word vomit; step 3, ???; step 4, proofread; step 5, publish; step 6, get inspiration from comments.

Harry had been happy and relieved not to be going back to Privet Drive, so the fact that the Odinsons had described their home as an “estate” hadn’t really registered until they suddenly materialized in a hallway of white marble and glittering gold accents. He couldn’t believe he would be staying in such a posh place. After the most lavish meal he’s ever had, Harry is shown to the room where he will be staying and his jaw falls open at the size. It’s bigger than the entire first floor of the house he’s grown up in and even has a sitting area of its own. Harry tries to tell Mr. Odinson — Loki as he insists on being called (even though Harry thinks it’s disrespectful to call an adult by their first name) — that it’s far too much for him. But he’s told that the room is right next to Draco’s and it’s the perfect place for him to stay.

He climbs into the enormous bed with  _ A History of Magic _ , looking through the book to find a name for Draco’s owl. The last thing he thinks before he falls asleep is that ‘Hedwig’ sounds really nice.

-

The next morning, Harry is woken up early. Much too early for summer hols. He has a moment of panic thinking he’s back in his cupboard and Uncle Vernon has come to punish him for something before he remembers where he is. Harry sluggishly asks what’s the matter as he fumbles to put on his glasses. Draco’s bright smile greets him and the blond cheerfully announces that it is time for breakfast. He’s handed a set of clothes and told that they are going to have so much fun. Harry is skeptical as getting up at just past sunrise o’clock seems quite the opposite of anything remotely related to fun.

After throwing on the clothes Draco has brought for him to change into, Harry stumbles downstairs, still feeling half-asleep. The delicious smell of breakfast helps to wake him up. Harry is impressed by the large and hearty breakfast featuring various meats. The Dursleys rarely required him to cook a full breakfast; they’d usually let him out of his cupboard and had him make toast before they’d have to rush out the door. More often than not, Harry had to go without breakfast because there simply wasn’t enough time for him to prepare any toast for himself. Though unused to eating so much and so early in the morning, his stomach is happily accommodating. Harry looks around for a clock trying to figure out what time it is.

“It’s about a quarter to seven, if you’re wondering. We usually rise before the sun.” Loki explained and some bit of horror must have shown on Harry’s face because Loki smirked and said, “Draco wanted to wake you up earlier, but I convinced him to allow you an extra hour of slumber.”

“Thank you so much.” Harry says with a heart full of gratitude.

-

 

During that first week, Harry struggles to make himself useful. He offers to help clean up after dinner only to have Loki say that the house elves would get depressed if he let Harry do anything of the sort. Later, Draco refuses his offer to help clean up the messy corner of his room and explains that he had a bargain with his father to be allowed to keep a small mess in exchange for keeping the rest in pristine order without the help of the house elves. Harry is at a loss. He had always been of some use, even when he wasn’t wanted. Suddenly he was wanted, but there is nothing he could do to be of use.

Loki is the most impressive person Harry had ever met. He’s kind and patient and genuinely cares to listen to Harry’s words. The man's quiet confidence and effortless grace is the extreme opposite of every adult he’d ever met. The Dursleys were mean and his teachers were arrogant — they demanded to be listened to just because they were older and Harry had resented their authority. But Loki is always gentle in his instruction as he tells Harry about the different plants growing in the greenhouse. He always knows when to ask Harry twice if he has any questions because he knows that Harry has difficulty speaking up when he doesn’t know something. He's even showed Harry secret plants which he said wouldn’t be found in any apothecary. Loki tells Harry that the Odinson Estate is the only place they grew on the  _ entire planet _ . And Loki shows him different ways to cut up various potions ingredients and makes sure Harry is holding the knife properly because he wants Harry to be  _ safe _ . 

Harry feels like he’s truly learning for the first time. He learns about the Wizarding World — about Hogwarts and Quidditch (which Draco tells him is called ‘Skyball’ in America) and all sorts of things. Everything Loki teaches makes sense. Even things that seemed completely useless like table manners.

_ “This week during dinners, we’ll practice various dining customs and learn different sets of rules for table etiquette. Don’t fret, Harry, we wouldn’t judge you on something so vapid. There are people who will, however, so it’s best to familiarize yourself with such elitist social manners. That way you’ll at least have a choice of whether or not to follow suit depending on how you wish to be perceived.” Loki had explained and Harry could grasp the utility of something he had always thought was pointless. _

Draco, too, was different from any others his age that he'd ever met. His friend’s love for fun is infectious. Harry loves how they get to run around the grounds in the afternoons riding horses and shooting arrows. While not quite the same level of grace exhibited by Loki, his first real friend moved purposefully in a way which made Harry feel clumsy. But Draco doesn’t laugh at him when he can’t shoot an arrow straight or get his horse to move. Well, he laughs, but he doesn’t make fun, doesn’t laugh at him. Harry’s honestly never met anyone who laughed so much. It makes him laugh too. 

But, as wonderful as it was, it still felt like he was waiting for it all fall apart. Each morning, he woke up wondering if it was the day they would finally tell him that they made a mistake in letting him stay so long and that he needed to go home immediately. Harry had always earned his keep at the Dursleys; they never failed to remind him that it was only their goodwill which kept him housed and fed. Harry’s unease grew with each passing day and he tried to find something he could do so that he could deserve the Odinsons’ kindness and generosity.  

And then one day about a week after Harry had first arrived, Loki took him aside after dinner and explains without telling.

“Harry, what is your opinion of my clothing?” Loki inquires.

“I think it looks really good,” he had responded easily. Harry didn’t know anything about fashion, but he always thought Loki looked regal in his intricate looking outfits.

There is a sad twist of Loki’s mouth that looks wrong on his usually tranquil features. Loki says that it was actually very dull and needed polishing. Harry feels himself deflate at the unexpected reaction and has the dreadful thought that maybe he had said the wrong thing. Then, Loki asks him to repeat what he had just said.

“Now, repeat your opinion in the exact same manner.” Loki instructs in that mild teaching tone Harry had come to recognize.

“I think it looks really good.” Harry said again, trying to keep the same inflections he had just used.

This time, Loki’s face lights up with a smile as he simply says, “Thank you, Harry.” He found himself smiling in return, feeling a surprising satisfaction of accomplishment.

“Harry, you just gave me the gift of a compliment. The first time, I did not accept it. But the second time, I did.” Loki says plainly and puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “Draco offered you friendship and you chose to accept. And when I offered you a place here, it became your choice to accept. When a gift is given — truly given — the recipient needs only receive it. There is nothing more that needs to be done to earn the gift.”

Harry ran the conversation through his head again and catalogued the differences in Loki’s responses along with his own reactions. 

“Something to think on.” said Loki as he ruffled Harry’s hair before walking away. 

And Harry did think on it. It didn’t take long for him to understand the difference. Never knowing anything different, he thought it was natural to be subservient to the people who housed you. Harry grew up with relatives who demanded that he contribute to their well-being and made him responsible for their comfort. The Dursleys never failed to remind him that Harry’s place in their home was something he had to earn. Upon arriving at the Odinson Estate, he had been searching for a way to fulfill those obligations. But Loki was telling him that he didn’t need to do any of that here.

The revelation of it was powerful. 

Harry felt a sudden relief from a burden he didn’t even know he carried. 

After that, he knew he didn’t have to worry. He threw himself into enjoying every moment.

 

* * *

 

Loki had never believed that the infant whispered to have survived the magical mortal’s most lethal spell was powerful enough to defeat the most recent Dark Wizard among them. He had guessed that the baby was the merely the survivor of a well-laid trap for Voldemort. It had never crossed his mind to consider what might have happened to the child, but hearing that he had been sent to live with his non-magical relatives and his parentage kept from him was unexpected.   
  
It was not an unreasonable course of action on its face. He himself had not planned on informing Draco of his full inheritance until he had grown into mortal adulthood, however, that was prior to seeing the child of his magic so mistreated. Surely this heralded hero of the wizarding world could not have been left to suffer the degradation of his so-called guardians had the conditions of his circumstances been known. Unless… _Ah, of course,_ Loki discerns, _that forgetful child would neglect to pay attention to such details._ He sighs and factors this information into his plans easily. _No matter. Simply one more to add to the list of Hogwarts staff requiring a personal visit to once term starts._   
  
It was an insidious injury done to Harry’s spirit — beyond the damage done to his self confidence, the boy thought of himself only in terms of how he could be valuable to others instead of valuing himself. That mentality would only lead to self-destruction. Harry would never be able to see himself clearly if he only looked through the lens of other people’s opinions. It would an intangible cage, a prison which would keep him from the freedom of realizing the things that fulfilled him. For how could he find the things that truly gave him purpose if he was always searching for meaning in how others saw him? 

And, if the boy was faced with the vengeance of Voldemort’s followers in the future, then he would surely need more strength of self in order to be victorious. 

The neglect Harry has suffered feels like a reflection of Loki's own scars. He understood what it was to be treated as if you had no value. Endless years of being compared to his golden brother and found wanting had seen to that. Loki fought against the tendency to judge himself according to expectations of others. It was a trap that Loki had struggled with all his life — fighting the temptation to let the opinions of others determine his weight. That battle had become easier after the child of his magic had come into his life. Seeing himself through his little dragon’s eyes had given him a clearer picture of himself. 

Loki decides that the best gift he can give to Harry was to show him that he was accepted just as he was and to encourage and support the child in doing the same for himself. 

-

  
It has been about 3 weeks since Harry has come to the Estate and Loki has come to feel a deep parental sort of fondness for the boy. In light of the Allfather’s decree of non-interference, taking Harry to the Estate was skirting the edge to be sure. Yet, the spirit of the rule was preserved. Loki and Draco could be any number of wizards with whom Harry might find a place of refuge from his non-magical relatives. Providing a temporary home for an unwanted orphan child was arguably a gray area and Loki lived in the gray.

Loki finds that he wants to nurture the best in Harry in the same way he’s done with Draco and delights in discovering how best to instruct him. People were so wonderfully complex. Loki has always been fascinated with solving the mystery of them: figuring out what they loved, what they hated, what  _ moved  _ them. Though Liesmith he has been called, he did not favor pure falsehood. Much of Loki’s so-called deceptions were actually the unvarnished truth. “Trickster” he was called, because he audaciously pointed out what no one wanted to see and said the things that no one else would dare. It was easier to call Loki a deceiver rather than accept things exposed which called into question the very reality they perceived. He also enjoyed knowing exactly what to say to a person so that their own assumptions would lead them onto the paths he crafted.     

Loki notes that Harry is very responsive to being given expectations in the same way that Draco responds to praise. It is likely a consequence of his unfortunate circumstances. The boy had clearly been lacking stability and consistency in the authority figures in his life. Living with relatives who would mistreat Harry whenever they felt the need no doubt created a high level of anxiety. The way Harry had brightened to know that Loki did not expect him to perform any tasks to earn his place at the Estate was lamentable. No child should have to wonder such things.  

Harry had ducked his head and said he had always received poor marks in school. Given that prolonged listening seemed difficult for him, Loki could appreciate the challenges Harry faced. But it was clear that the boy was intelligent and the usual methods of instruction simply didn’t work well for him. It is a simple matter for Loki to observe and ascertain which methods would be effective. It doesn’t take long for Loki to see that Harry learns best through experience. He is tactile in a way that Draco isn’t. Unlike his little dragon, Harry didn’t absorb knowledge best from reading a book and talking through hypotheticals, but by seeing and doing.   

Harry would take on an intense focus when Loki was instructing on how to do things, but struggled to concentrate while reading about topics that he found no interest in. The boy’s attention was fleeting when dealing with the theoretical and so Loki directed his teaching of Harry towards concrete and practical outcomes. This was, of course, the exact opposite of Draco who loved to dwell in possibilities. One way Loki accommodates both of the boys’ learning styles is to conduct Potions and Herbology instruction in the greenhouse. He is able to show Harry the various plants and demonstrate what things do when they are combined while Draco sits in a corner working out potions recipe variations and writing out plans to cross breed plants. 

_ “What if… you added porcupine quills to make wide-eye potion more potent?” Draco proposed. _

_ “I think… you’d probably cause an explosion.” Harry said with some concern. _

_ “Correct again, Harry.” Loki affirmed. _

_ “What about… powdered moonstone combined with... lionfish spines…” Draco said, thinking outloud. _

_ "Why would _ — _ ” Harry choked, “Draco, that sounds like a recipe for poisonous gas.” he finished with some concern. _

_ “It is indeed a recipe for poisonous gas.” Loki advised. “Correct again, Harry.” _

_ Draco groaned. _

_ “Do not fret, little dragon.” Loki reassured, “You cannot excel in everything at once. While the practicalities of these potions combinations elude you, know that you can rely on Harry’s assistance. And Harry, when you start to go cross-eyed reading about magical theory, Draco will be there to help you through it in return.” _

Loki is quite pleased at the synergy that develops between the boys.    

  
\- 

  
While the boys are different, they do share many similarities. Both resisted structure: Draco was too adaptable to stick to any uniformity and Harry innately sought independence having been denied it for so long. Loki, of course, approved wholeheartedly of such tendencies. Resourcefulness was born of such flexibility. Of some concern, however, was that both boys did not seem inclined to think too far into the future: Harry was more oriented to the present and Draco wanted to stay open to possibilities. This was the opposite of Loki who looked to future possibilities to inform his decisions in the present. He found fault with such short-sighted behaviour and attempted to curb it by stressing the benefits of long-term planning whenever he could. It was exasperating that the boys seemed too young or too disinterested to pay much attention to his counsel in this matter.  

Draco and Harry also share a similar recklessness and enthusiasm for facing challenges. His little dragon never hesitated to throw himself into things wholeheartedly and Harry was quick to rush in fearlessly. Harry has impressive physical coordination for his age and is able to make surprising progress with the combat exercises that Draco has been doing for years. Though three weeks isn’t enough for Harry to achieve any kind of proficiency by any means, he becomes adept enough not to slow Draco down. The boys delight in competing against each other in a race through an obstacle course as well as fighting together against the Red-Shirted garden gnomes. 

It has actually been years since Draco has wanted to play out battle simulations with the garden gnomes. After he had grown taller, he thought them too small to present a worthy challenge. But Loki is unsurprised that his little dragon wants to play out a gnome battle with his new friend -- if there’s anything he loves with equal fervor as experiencing new things, it is enjoying someone else experiencing something new. Draco always wanted to bring something from Midgard to Asgard (usually some new food he had discovered) because he wanted to see such reactions. For instance, his grandmother’s delight at different flavors of macarons or his Aunt Sif’s reactions to Midgard’s various breakfast meats.  

Watching them work together against the Red-Shirted garden gnomes, Loki had no doubt they have the potential to make a formidable force. Harry has a knack for reading the battlefield which reminded him of Thor. It was a fine counterpoint to Draco’s ability to strategize.

Half of the Blue-Shirted garden gnomes are down and the Red Shirted garden gnomes have taken nearly all the foxholes. Draco signals Harry before jumping out to run through the hail of mud clods being thrown in their direction. His little dragon laughs and throws insults while Harry quietly maneuvers behind the Red-Shirted garden gnome faction and starts knocking them out one by one. Though Harry tried to volunteer to take the decoy role before the battle, Draco had laughed and promised that there was enough glory to be had for the both of them. Loki is impressed to see that, while Harry is focused on subduing the Red-Shirted garden gnomes from behind, Draco is able to discreetly cast the occasional illusion to make it appear that Harry is still at his side. 

When the last Red-Shirted garden gnome is defeated, the boys cheer in triumph. Loki is amused to see Draco clasping the back of Harry’s neck in an imitation of Thor’s frequent gesture of fondness. It won’t be long before Draco starts addressing Harry as his shield-brother.   

Both boys fall down onto the grass as they catch their breath after their victory. 

“Heimdall! Did you see that?” Draco yells out into the sky in his habit of calling out to the gatekeeper whenever something exciting happened. Ever since their first meeting, Draco made it a point to talk to him just as he promised to do.   

“Did you just call me ‘Heimdall’?” Harry asks in confusion.

“What?” responds Draco, equally baffled for a moment until he remembers what he just said,

“Ohhh...No, Harry, he’s…” Draco pauses, “it’s like the way you’ll hear some wizards say ‘Merlin!’ or ‘Merlin’s beard!’” Loki feels a touch of pride at his little dragon’s deft maneuvering of the subject. Draco hasn’t said anything technically untrue because it is indeed similar. Loki trusts Draco will be able to navigate the limitations that have been placed on their interactions with mortals – he’s been preparing for it over the past few years. Trustworthy though Harry may be, he is still a child and for all the mortals he may have befriended in the past, Loki has never revealed more than the fact that he was not of this realm.    
  
“I see. I’ve heard of Merlin, but who is Heimdall?” Harry queries.  
  
“He’s the gatekeeper of Asgard - where the Norse pantheon lives.” Draco answers.  
  
“So, your family is...Norse? Wait, are we in Norway now?” Harry asks, sitting up in interest.  
  
“We’re not in Norway. Well, not really...It’s over there.” Draco points behind him, then points in the opposite direction, “London is that way. And New York through the south west gate.”  
  
“Wow.” says Harry, trying to wrap his mind around what Draco has just said, “Magic’s brilliant.” After a moment, Harry lays back on the grass and remarks, “It’s like you’ve been everywhere.”

“‘From there to here, from here to there, fun things are everywhere.’” Draco recites and tells Harry, “It’s out of my favorite book from when I was little! I only remember 2 lines from it, but I read it all the time before it was...” Draco pauses, likely recalling bitter memories of his mortal sire incinerating the book. He sighs, then brightens. “The other line is: ‘If you never did, you should. These things are fun and fun is good.’”

Harry laughs, “That sounds just like you!”

“My first friend gave me that book. But I barely even remember him now. Sometimes I remember him and wonder if he remembers me.” Draco says with aplomb. Loki sees through easily as an attempt to mask the sadness he no doubt feels at the thought. He knows that his little dragon hates the thought of being forgotten by anyone.

“Draco, you’re my first friend and no matter what happens I know I’d never forget you.” Harry declares earnestly.  

The happiness beaming from Draco’s face at Harry’s words is so bright that Loki has to close his eyes for a moment and thank the Norns for such a fortuitous meeting at the robes shop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, I fully acknowledge that the official cannon says “Quidpot” is what Quidditch is supposed to be called in America. However, during a late night after watching Fantastic Beasts, my friends and I were certain that the American name for Quidditch would be something more like...SKYBALL. Maybe it could be American wizard slang like the way "shooting some hoops" refers to basketball. Also, the quotes are taken from the book ‘One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish’ by Dr. Seuss. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading~! Check out my tumblr blog for updates, drabbles, and asks ^__^
> 
> Next Chapter: Draco and Harry arrive at Hogwarts!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki sees Draco and Harry off. The boys arrive at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments, they really so much to me! I especially love getting feedback on the story, it really helps! 
> 
> B/N: When reading this, do keep in mind that Draco is physically 11, but mentally he is 13, so he is technically ahead of the other first years when it comes to understanding the world and not being a bratty child.

 

Although he’s planned this day for years, Loki finds himself somewhat hesitant to send Draco off to Hogwarts. He reminds himself that he laid the foundation of the wards at Hogwarts himself and that Draco will be safe as he teleports with the boys and their things to Platform 9 ¾.

In secluding Draco from the Wizarding World, Loki planned to protect him from and prepare him for the scrutiny he would undoubtedly be subjected to once he started at Hogwarts. As much as the rumors of the past concern Loki, he believes that Draco is now mature enough to handle the kind of questions which would have confused and frightened Draco when he was seven-years-old. There are things Draco can only learn through experience and Loki reminds himself that the challenges which await Draco at Hogwarts are necessary for his little dragon to grow. Some things can only be earned through trial and error; sometimes the value of something can’t be known until one suffers from ignorance or violation of it.

In the years since Draco has come to live with him, Loki has trained the boy to have strength of mind, body, and heart. Loki’s wish is that Draco will grow into a strong and independent individual, confident in himself and the decisions he makes. He’s taught Draco to question everything so that he would have the ability to find answers for himself. He’s trained Draco’s mind to have a broad perspective to aid in this process. Loki thinks wryly that Draco has learned to remain open to possibilities a little too well and it too often manifests as indecisiveness.

“Remember, little dragon, a choice is only a choice once you make it.” By the agitated look on Draco’s face at Loki’s words, he’s certain that his meaning has been understood.     

Draco looks away and fidgets, “Yes, Faðir.” he replies sullenly.

 _Norns help me when Draco reaches the age when he thinks he knows everything._ Loki thinks to himself. 

“Intention can be a terrifying thing and commitment to a path can feel dangerous. But if you’re always playing it safe, then are you even playing at all?” Loki knows his words are more direct than usual, but he’s compelled to offer this bit of guidance before they part. Draco freezes up for a moment before shaking his head and looks like he’s to answer the rhetorical question. Loki puts his hand on Draco’s head and affectionately ruffles his hair. “Do not fear, Draco. Always remember who you are.”

Draco finally looks up. His eyes soften. “Yes, Faðir.” he says, this time with a note of concession.

“And Harry,” Loki puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder as he addresses the boy, “It will not be easy for you. Most will look at you and see only their own expectations. But, you are not what has happened to you. You are who you choose to be.” Harry’s serious face leaves no question that he is taking Loki’s words to heart.  

Loki crouches down and meets the both boys at their eye level to impart his final words of advice. “Look out for each other. Remember that the only difference between a hero and a villain is whose side you’re on and sometimes the only way to learn who your allies are is through conflict.” Smiling down at both of the boys he adds, “Whatever else may happen, engage in as much mischief as possible without getting caught. And do take care not to cause yourself any grievous injuries.”

He gives each of the boys a hug and watches them board the train. Draco carries the trunks easily while Harry holds Hedwig’s cage. Loki just manages to resist the urge to board the train himself under the illusion of a generic railway steward as the Hogwarts Express prepares to depart. He waves to the boys as the train pulls away and reminds himself that he’ll be able to check in on them when he makes his visit to the school shortly.   

 

* * *

 

Ron Weasley wanders the train brimming with expectation, looking for compartments with other first years. He couldn’t stand being in the same one as his brothers a moment longer. Fred and George had made such a good show of helping him bring his things onto the train, but Ron knew that had been mostly for their mother’s benefit so that she wouldn’t worry.

But now, he’ll finally be around people who will see _him_ and not simply the youngest of his brothers. Ron loves his family, but he’s often felt a little invisible in the crowded and busy Weasley household. Bill was the responsible one, Charlie was the reckless one, Percy was the persnickety one, Fred and George were the troublemakers, Ginny was the baby sister and Ron was, well, just Ron. And was there anything he could even do at Hogwarts that hadn’t already been accomplished by his brothers? Ron pushed the rising fear of mediocrity aside and re-focused on his task of finding some new friends.

He frowned as the compartment he checked was full of first years with their noses in books. No place for him to sit in there either. Not any real loss though since he wasn’t much for books anyway. Ron completely passes a few that looked to be full of bunch of poncy purebloods who were obviously going to be sorted into Slytherin. Ron knew to stay away from them. _Children of Death Eaters_ he had heard one of his brothers say. Everyone knew that the lot of them were evil.

Ron looked in the window of the next compartment and, seeing it mostly empty, he slid open the door. His eyes fell onto a boy with messy black hair. He poked his head in further.

"Anyone sitting—” he began and then abruptly stopped when he saw the other occupant of the train compartment sitting across from the dark haired boy. The white blond hair was unmistakable. It was undoubtedly the _Malfoy_ hair. Ron’s thoughts go immediately to the blood feud that existed between his family and Malfoys along with all the bad things he’s heard about them.

“You’re a Malfoy.” Ron says darkly.

The blond boy looks startled. “You are mistaken. My name is Odinson.”

Ron squints incredulously. He sounds polite. But you can’t ever trust a Malfoy. He makes sure to say this thought outloud because he’s been taught to be honest. And maybe the black haired boy with glasses doesn’t know who he’s sharing a train compartment with. He looks a bit on the skinny side, so maybe he’s really weak and is being bullied. Maybe he needs Ron to rescue him and make the Malfoy boy leave. Ron’s just about to give voice to these questions when a white snake pops out of the boy’s sleeve.

Ron jumps back instinctively and smashes his arm against the half open compartment door. He also lets out a surprised yelp — because _blimey_ that’s a disgusting snake — which does not resemble in any way a high pitched shriek.

“Oh, don’t worry, this is my familiar. She’s perfectly tame and won’t hurt you.” the boy with glasses says and then looks at the snake and starts _hissing_. The snake comes further out of the boy’s sleeve.

“What are you playing at?!” Ron demands, panic rising within him. First a Malfoy and now a parselmouth! _Merlin, I’ve stepped into the baby Death Eater compartment._ He thinks miserably.  

“Would you calm down?” The Malfoy boy practically sneers at him (because that’s what they do, they sneer and look down at Weasleys), “As he said, you’ve nothing to fear.”

Ron is immediately aggravated. Besides the condescending tone, he is angry at the implication that this Malfoy boy is so superior. Ron suddenly recalls a story about the Malfoy heir who disappeared. He should have thought of it sooner. It was his Uncle Bilius’ favorite story. Maybe that’s who this boy is because he’s so clearly a Malfoy but is claiming a different name. Ron feels a vicious glee as he hones in on a memory of things his Uncle said that made his mother slap Uncle Bilius on the back of the head and threaten to curse him if he ever repeated it. Ron was used to seeing his mum upset about pretty much everything, but he had never heard her use such a dangerous sounding tone before. Even his father who was usually so easygoing and had good humor about things had looked at his Uncle sharply and said that he didn’t want such talk in his house.

“I just remembered who you are! You’re _that_ Malfoy.” Ron pauses, slightly nervous about repeating his Uncle’s words, “The _bastard_.”

The not-Malfoy boy and his friend gasp in surprise. Ron laughs, happy that it worked. It feels so good to get one over on the git that made him feel weak. The shocked reaction makes Ron feel ten feet tall. His Uncle Bilius would be so proud. The rage that is starting to bloom on the blond boy’s face is also satisfying.

“My Fath—” the now red-faced blond boy starts and Ron decides to cut him off and repeat the thing his Uncle Bilius said which made his mother drop the pudding.

“A lucky bastard whose father took him in after his whore mother died.”

   

* * *

 

Harry punches the ginger in the face.

Really, there was no other option. To be honest, Harry had been thinking about decking him ever since he started speaking to them. He barged into their compartment and accused Draco of being a liar and then overreacted at the sight of Jör. And then, when Draco simply told him to calm down, the other boy had just snapped for no reason. The derisive tone the ginger boy used to call his friend a bastard made him think of the way that the Dursleys would call Harry freak. And the horrible insult to Draco’s dead mother was so familiar to how the Dursleys would insult Harry’s dead parents that Harry is shaking with anger. Before he could think, his fist was flying into the freckled boy’s face.

“You’re mental!” the red headed boy screeches as he stumbles out of the compartment, clutching his swollen cheek. Harry is only sorry that he didn’t punch the boy straight in the nose.

“Are you alright, Draco?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Well…” Draco sniffs in contempt. “That was awful.”

“Yeah.” Harry agrees.

“My Father will hear of this.” Draco huffs.

-

Sometime later, there is a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy comes in, looking like he is about to cry.

"Sorry," he says, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shake their heads, he wails, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," Harry reassured. He looked down at his sleeve where Jör was sleeping and he almost opens his mouth to ask his familiar if she’d seen a toad, but then remembered the reactions he’d gotten to hearing him speak parseltongue and decides against it.

Just then a bushy haired girl stepped in and said, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville— oh, you’ve already checked here then?”

The tearful boy nods sadly, “They haven’t seen him either.”

“We’ll keep looking. Oh! Is that Budge’s _Book of Potions_ ?” she inquires upon seeing the book Harry has on his lap. He is barely acknowledging her question with a nod when she continues, “It wasn’t on the required list of required so I didn’t get it, but the potions recipes in there are different from Jigger’s _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , aren’t they?” Harry isn’t able to answer her question because she then begins to speak very rapidly about how she’s learned a lot from the books even though she’s from a non-magical family. She tells them that she has practiced some spells on the train already and hopes to be in Gryffindor. The girl stops in the middle of a sentence about the Hogwarts Houses as if she suddenly remembered something and then proceeds to introduce herself and the boy who came in moments before.

“This is Neville Longbottom and I’m Hermione Granger.” she says and sticks out her hand.

Harry hesitates. Every time he’s introduced himself, it’s been met with an open mouthed astonishment that he’s not quite sure how to handle. Only Draco and Loki have treated him like a normal person after learning his name. Before Harry can introduce himself, his friend gets up and offers his hand to the two.

“Draco Odinson.” his friend introduces himself and Longbottom gasps.

“Draco?! As in…The Boy Who Was Kidnapped?!” the wide-eyed boy asks in a high pitched shrill. Harry, while usually not very empathetic, feels a strange understanding when he sees Draco wince in discomfort. Longbottom is oblivious and continues on excitedly, “My grandmother said she heard rumors that you were seen in Diagon Alley during the summer and that you might be coming to Hogwarts after disappearing for so many years! How did you get away?!”  

“I wasn’t kidnapped. I was… not with my proper family to begin with.” Draco says carefully.

“You mean, Malfoy kidnapped you first?” Longbottom breathes in awe seemingly unable to get it out of his head that Draco was kidnapped at some point.

“I was never kidnapped.” Draco frowns. “It’s…” And Harry can see Draco’s ever present confidence falter. He remembers when Draco explained how he came to live with Loki a few days ago. His forever laughing friend with boundless confidence had never looked so vulnerable as he told his story.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Harry Potter.” Harry blurts out, knowing just how that will shift the focus of the conversation.

Hermione exclaims that she’s read all about him. Neville, if possible, gets even more nervous. Harry winds up moving his hair back to show them his scar. He thinks he’ll never get used to people shouting his own name back at him in shocked disbelief.  

When Hermione and Neville leave to continue the search of the toad, Draco breathes out a sigh of relief. His hand moves to the back of Harry’s neck and squeezes for a second before dropping away. It’s a gesture that he’s come to expect from the other boy since the first time after they conquered the quidditch pitch together against the Red-Shirted garden gnomes.

“Thank you.” Draco whispers.

Harry hums in acknowledgement, “Well, it’s rather private, isn’t it? Like people asking me about surviving the night my parents died.”

“It’s not something I wish to discuss in detail with people I’ve just met, no.” Draco says with that hint of snark and sarcasm that Harry has grown quite fond of and is relieved by his best friend’s return to his usual self. Draco turns and looks at him seriously, “I told you what happened because you’re my shield brother, Harry. I trust you.”

“And I trust you, Draco.” Harry says automatically. He adds, “You’re my best friend. And I think you’re the only one who understands what it’s like to have your name yelled back at you like you’re not really who you just said you are.”

“I had no idea I was known by such a ridiculous description.” Draco groans.    

“The Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who _Wasn’t_ Kidnapped.” Harry sniggers.

“Oh, Norns and their twisted sense of humor! I’m fated to be stuck with you!” Draco exclaims with mocking despair and lightly punches Harry’s shoulder as he laughs.   

 

* * *

 

When the boats cross the wards protecting Hogwarts, Draco is surprised to feel that something seems to resonate with his seiðr. It feels similar to the first time he walked into his Faðir’s apartments in Asgard and the wards there welcomed him in. Draco recalls his Faðir’s stories about meeting the Hogwarts founders (they were always his favorite) and has a hazy recollection about his Faðir saying that he had been around while it was being built. Draco smiles with pride as he thinks, _Faðir helped build Hogwarts. These wards know me because they know Faðir._

As the boats glide across the lake, Draco uses his second sight to take in the protective weavings canvassing the area — they are not as intricate as the ones on the Estate, but he can see the bits and pieces that were undoubtedly crafted by his Faðir. Draco impulsively moves his fingers to flick one of the threads. The reverberating ripple seems to be imperceptible to anyone but him. It makes him giggle. Draco knows that the magic here isn’t only his Faðir’s creation, but it seems he had enough of a hand in building Hogwarts that it recognizes him.    

He hadn’t expected Hogwarts to feel like a home so soon, but the magic is warm and comforting. Draco can’t wait to explore the castle and find more signs of his Faðir’s handiwork.

-

Though Draco notes some similarities in design, walking down the stretch of the Great Hall feels very little like entering the Feasting Hall in Asgard. It’s nicely constructed, but quite quaint in contrast to the golden halls he’s come to love as dearly as the Odinson Estate. Draco is unimpressed by the cramped and crowded layout with hardly any space in between the tables. _How did people move about during feasts and meals?_ He wondered as remaining fixed in one spot during such events was the complete reverse of Asgardian custom. In his experience, feasts were times of celebration and camaraderie where the formalities of court had no place.

When Draco had heard talk on the train of a Grand Start-of-Term Feast to celebrate the first night of Hogwarts, he had not expected the atmosphere to be so weighed down by such pomposity. Of course, the solemnity of the first years’ march towards the front of the hall was nothing when compared with his first walk down the long expanse of the throne room in Asgard. Still, Draco hopes that once the Sorting Ceremony is completed, the mood will lighten into something that more closely resembled his expectations for what a feast should look like.  

He reigns in his wandering thoughts and shifts his focus to observe each House table carefully. Regardless of how much his Faðir lectures him about being indecisive, Draco knows when the time for contemplation has run out. Draco reminds himself that he only has a few minutes to figure out his decision before the Sorting Ceremony begins and his name is called. And it _is_ his choice regardless of what the nervous first years have said on the train. He’s certain. His Faðir would have worded his statement about the Sorting Hat differently if it were otherwise.

When his name is called, Draco turns to Harry sees worry on his friend’s face. He remembers the way he’s seen Fandral wink while saying “don’t worry about it.” Usually, the person would give a little smile in response. (Unless they were Aunt Sif because she always got annoyed and rolled her eyes at Fandral when he did that).

“Don’t worry, Harry!” Draco says and winks before turning to walk up the steps to be sorted.   

 

* * *

 

“Oh my, what do we have here? I”ve not had a challenge like this since Minerva McGonagall! Well let’s see, let’s see now...The heart of a lion and the loyalty of a badger. Plus a mind cunning enough for Slytherin and clever enough for Ravenclaw… ” The Sorting Hat speaks inside his mind the way his Faðir does, so Draco naturally communicates in the way he is accustomed and projects his thoughts clearly at the Hat.

“Not Ravenclaw.” Draco thinks at the hat.

“Are you sure? So much curiosity! Don’t you want to be with others who are curious too?” The Sorting Hat solicits.

Draco had barely spared a glance in the direction of the Ravenclaw table after they had entered the Great Hall earlier. While they didn’t quite exude the arrogance he imagined they would, he had already decided that he would not spend his Hogwarts days in a House that valued acquiring knowledge above all else. He had already spent so much time reading and learning. Not that he didn’t appreciate books, it was just that...

“No,” Draco thinks, “I want something different.”

“Oh, well I do see you’ve some daring and courage. Not wanting to merely read about adventure, but to seek it out, eh? Perhaps Gryffindor then.” the Sorting Hat offers.

Draco’s top priority as he scanned the tables in the Great Hall before the sorting ceremony was not to wind up in the same house as that dreadful boy they met on the train. Not that he's scared of the ginger, he just doesn’t want to be housemates with him. Being part of a Hogwarts House was something special, something Draco has dreamed about since childhood. He couldn’t stomach the idea of being in the same House as that red-headed boy after the things he’d said on the train. It was easy to spot the three older boys sitting at the Gryffindor tables with the same coloring as the boy Harry punched. Knowing that family members are often sorted into the same House, it wasn’t too big a leap to conclude that the ginger boy will wind up in Gryffindor with his relatives.

“Not Gryffindor.” Draco thinks with resignation and frowns a bit, unhappy at the circumstances that makes him so averse to being in Gryffindor. Draco always saw Gryffindor as the most Asgardian-like because their values reminded him of his Uncle Thor who was a shining beacon of all things Asgardian. It could have been interesting and fun. When he would picture being in Gryffindor, Draco had imagined he'd try and balance his housemates the way his Faðir would balance his Uncle Thor. He'd be the voice of reason as they sought out adventures together.

“Not Gryffindor, eh? That’s a shame. Are you certain? You are quite bold.”

Draco chews on his bottom lip, wishing that the deciding factor came from something other than an upsetting altercation. But he had made up his mind and he absolutely refused to be cohorts with that rude ginger boy. He is just about to send more concrete thoughts to the Hat to express this when it starts talking to him again.

“Ah, I see. You seek to forge meaningful bonds above all else. Yes, I see it more clearly now. What you want more than anything...Friendship. So the obvious place to sort you would be--”

“No… not Hufflepuff.” Draco thinks resolutely.

Draco could feel the surprise of the Sorting Hat in the silence that followed. He didn’t blame the enchanted head covering at all. The disillusionment still hurts more than he'd like to admit.

Earlier, when he saw the first two students called were sorted into Hufflepuff, Draco’s heart had felt like it would burst sorted seeing them welcomed so warmly. The word “loyalty” stands like a shimmering virtue in Draco’s mind reminding him the bond between his Faðir and Uncle Thor as well as the camaraderie of the Warriors Three. It was one of the things that had always stood out to him about Hufflepuff. He had smiled imagining being greeted in the same fashion.

But then, Draco’s musings about Hufflepuff abruptly stopped when he noticed several of them staring in his direction with fear and suspicion. He was startled and confused for a moment before he saw one of the older students gasp and put her hands over her mouth at the same moment Harry said something to Jör. His enhanced hearing easily picked up their terrified whispers about Harry being a parselmouth. Draco’s heart sank as understanding dawned on him. _Of course, that awful ginger would have told everyone on the train about Harry’s special ability._ He had thought angrily. Draco was sure that if he looked back at the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables that he’d see some students there eyeing Harry with the same wary looks.  

He’ll never forget the hurt in Harry’s eyes at Hagrid’s reaction to him being a parselmouth and he’ll never forgive the way his friend’s face had closed up when the ginger boy on the train had been repulsed at Jör. And because Harry promised that he'd follow Draco to whichever House he got sorted into, he can't just think of himself in this moment. Draco has thought through the possibilities the way his Faðir has taught him to and is determined not to let Harry go through that again.

“No, true loyalty can’t be given when there’s fear.” Draco concludes. Maybe it was because he had such high expectations for Hufflepuff, but the idea of Hufflepuffs being prejudiced against Harry for being a parselmouth was so more offensive to Draco than the possibility of Slytherins being prejudiced against his friend for being a half-blood. Such intolerance was expected of Slytherins because of the paranoia regarding non-magical mortals that their House founder had, but for members of the House of Helga Hufflepuff to show themselves to be so prejudiced? Draco found himself tucking his thumbs under his fingers and tightening his hands into fists. He hated feeling such disappointment.       

“Dear child, you can’t possibly be asking to be sorted into Slytherin.” the Hat says incredulously.

Draco shrugs, “Slytherins respect parseltongue. They equate it with power which is necessary for ambition.” The looks that the Slytherin students had given Harry had intrigued him. For the most part, the students with green silver ties had looked at them with the same cool appraisement as they did the other first years. Some Slytherin students looked excited to see Jör around Harry’s neck. Some even looked covetous. _Fear is irrational_ , _but jealousy is the easiest emotion of all to manipulate._ Draco had thought, recalling his lessons. “Harry said he’d follow me. I have to do right by him. Maybe he’d eventually be accepted by the other Hufflepuffs, but he’ll never forget how they first looked at him. No, I can’t do that to him. He deserves better.”

“Your devotion to your friend only proves that you should be in Hufflepuff!” The Sorting Hat jeers.

“I’ve already told you: not Hufflepuff. I know my choice is the most important factor in the sorting. You have to go with my choice. My Faðir said so.” Draco asserts.

“Ooohhh, now I see why your magic feels so familiar! You’re _his_ child!” the Sorting Hat chuckles, “You know, he enchanted me. He made me for the purpose of guiding children just like you, so you best listen to me, Child of Odinson. You are adaptable enough for Slytherin, but your ambition is lacking. You would do fine in Slytherin, but you’d be great in Hufflepuff.” the Sorting Hat persists.

Draco sighs and admits to himself that he’s never felt terribly inclined or disinclined towards Slytherin. “Cunning and ambition” didn’t really sound like anything exciting or special to him. But, thinking over everything he’s observed, he considers that perhaps there is a potential for amusement in Slytherin House that he hadn’t really considered before. It’s intriguing in a different way than the anticipation of adventures in Gryffindor. Draco thinks that it might be like the difference between the reckless freedom that comes from charging through magical furniture to get to the flag and the focused intensity that comes from strategizing to conquer the Quidditch Pitch in a gnome battle. Draco suddenly imagines a group of garden gnomes in Slytherin colors and chortles before he can stop himself.

It won't be warm and welcoming like Hufflepuff would be, but he knows that he won't be alone because of Harry’s promise. They’ve conquered the Red-Shirted Garden Gnome faction together, so there’s no doubt in his mind that they’ll conquer Slytherin together.  

“I choose Slytherin.” Draco declares resolutely.  

“Once it’s done, it’s done. I will stand by the sorting, young Odinson. You won’t find the bonds of friendship you long for in Slytherin.” The Sorting Hat warns.

“I choose Harry. Put me in Slytherin.”

“As you wish.” the Hat grumbles, then calls out, “Slytherin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, I know, the part of me that wants nothing but fluff is sad that Draco won’t be going to Hufflepuff. But considering the reactions to Harry being a parselmouth in the second book, it made sense for them to be similarly suspicious and for Draco to react negatively to that. Also, the scene with Ron is not intended to be bashing by any means. Ron is simply just a child repeating something awful that he’s heard. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Were you surprised by the sorting? Do you think I should add a Slytherin!Harry tag to this fic or did you like that it wasn't a foregone conclusion as you read it? I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> You’ve probably seen that I’ve added a side story with various extra/deleted scenes. When a chapter is running late, I’ll probably try to post a short piece on there. I'm also open to prompts/requests in comments or through asks on my tumblr. Sometimes, it helps jump start my writing~


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape angst, Draco’s Asgardian culture shock, Jör complains a lot, and a potential ~~friend~~ ally shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for all the comments and feedback on the last chapter! I really hoped to show that Ron was being a stupid and insecure eleven-year-old boy who was trying to prove something after getting embarrassed. It is my hope that he will undergo some character growth as the story progresses. I also want to reassure you all that Ron will be in so much trouble if Molly ever finds out what he said. As I have said before, it is not my intent to bash any character in this story and always want to give some believable context for their actions. (*insert standard fanfic disclaimer about not owning anything here*). 
> 
> I rushed this chapter out before my beta got back to me because I’m going out of town tomorrow, so any typos are mine and will be fixed later. July is a pretty busy month for me so the next update will probably be a little delayed, but this chapter ran longer than usual so hopefully that will make up for it somewhat ^_^
> 
>  _::italics::_ — parseltongue (Note: Neither Draco nor Harry actually hear parseltongue, but it’s formatted that way so that the reader knows when it is being spoken)

 

When the first years enter the Great Hall, Severus Snape finds himself looking for a head of white-blond hair. The news that Draco _Odinson_ — the once Malfoy heir who had mysteriously disappeared years ago — was seen in Diagon Alley had reached everyone’s ears. The day he has hoped for is finally here. Draco has finally arrived at Hogwarts.

Soon after Narcissa had discovered that she was with child, the fainting spells began. At first, the unexplainable fatigue and passing out unexpectedly were dismissed as unusual symptoms of pregnancy. But then the length of time she would suffer a loss of consciousness swiftly became more prolonged, from seconds to minutes to hours. Though she appeared perfectly healthy physically, her magical core was being subjected to enormous stress. Healers confined her to bed rest as they tried potions, charms, counter-curses, and whatnot to no avail.

Narcissa was halfway into her pregnancy when she called Severus to her bedside to inform him that she was dying.

_"You have been a dear and trusted friend to our family for years, but we both know that Lucius has done something. It feels as if my very soul is burning out from the power of the magic in my womb. I know that I will not survive this, Severus.” Narcissa had confided to him with glassy eyes. “As I take stock of my life and who I would call upon to watch after my child in my absence, I find myself very alone. Of my sisters, one is insane and locked away while the other might as well be dead. I’ve never had a brother, though I was fond of Regulus. As you know, he has been lost for some time.” She closed her eyes and then continued shakily, “And… If Lucius could do this to me, then I worry for the future of my child. But if you … Severus, oh, Severus, would you look after him, see that he comes to no harm?" she had begged._

It was on that day that Narcissa made Severus swear to watch over her child and protect him to the best of his ability. For a brief moment, it had seemed that she might demand that he swear the Unbreakable Vow, but she stopped mid-sentence and said something about understanding the value of life and the desire for a second chance.

Months later, Narcissa Malfoy passed away moments after her infant son was placed in her arms. She had given him his name with her last breath.

The Manor had never been a particularly homely place, but it had an elegant air of hospitality. Narcissa’s absence was like a wound on the Malfoy family and whatever warmth there had been due to the Lady Malfoy’s presence was lost. Lucius grew detached and was frequently absent as he pursued his various ventures. Severus had visited often after Draco’s birth, tentatively accepting his role as godfather and pondering the weightiness of becoming a secondary parental figure to the Malfoy heir.

But then, after Lilly’s death and the part he played in it, Severus could no longer look at Draco without being reminded of the child Lily had died to protect. He could not think of Narcissa’s dying wish to protect her unborn baby without imagining the desperation Lily no doubt had in her final moments. And he could not recall Narcissa’s words about wanting a second chance without being overtaken by bitterness and self-loathing. His visits to Malfoy Manor became less and less frequent, justifying to himself that Lucius was not as poor a caretaker as Narcissa had feared. Surely, he would ensure that Draco had the best tutors and the best care. Severus was excellent at convincing himself that he was not needed.  

Looking back, he thinks that it was his good fortune that Narcissa had decided against asking for the Vow. Not that Severus can really say whether or not he would have even agreed to make it for there was little to gain from such a thing. All he knows is that his life would have been forfeit if he had.

-

Severus can still recall with perfect clarity the floo call from Lucius that fateful day when Odinson spirited his godson away.

Lucius was raving mad, screaming about a ritual gone wrong and Loki come down from Asgard. Severus had grabbed a calming draught and gone through the floo immediately only to have hexes thrown at him. He had no choice but to withdraw back through the floo to safety. More than a fortnight passed before he was allowed entrance into Malfoy Manor. Lucius had greeted him with dead eyes. The proud Lord Malfoy informed him icily that Draco was gone and refused to provide any explanation.

Though Lucius’ demeanor had calmed, his madness remained. Severus felt a terrible dread that Draco had perished by that madness.

It took several hours before Lucius admitted that the child had been taken away to Severus’ great relief. If the child still lived, then there was a chance to retrieve him. But when Severus tried to call the DMLE, he found Lucius’ wand at his throat. The man bellowed threats and swore that he would kill Severus if he tried to make any official report of Draco’s disappearance. Lucius insisted he had “no claim” before going into a hysterical rant about how he’d incurred the wrath of a god. At a loss, Severus spent day after day at Malfoy Manor trying to make sense of what happened.     

Instead of searching for his son, the Lord of Malfoy Manor was obsessed with researching the Dark Arts. When Severus attempted to help him as he poured over the old tomes in the Manor’s library, Lucius would only mumble incoherent phrases and incomplete sentences. It took painfully long to get Lucius to speak enough details about what had happened in order for him to piece together that Draco had been taken to the Odinson Estate.   

Once he finally had a concrete lead on Draco's whereabouts, Severus did everything he could to find any information about the Odinson family only to be frustrated to encounter more rumor than fact.  By then, it had been months since Draco had disappeared. His investigation was derailed before it even began as he learned that false information about the abduction seemed to have been spread by Lucius himself in his insanity. The stories were all completely ridiculous to anyone with any common sense. Though details varied, tales that Odinson was kidnapping children to perform dark magic experiments upon (despite the fact that no other children had gone missing) and the more sordid rumor of Narcissa’s secret love affair with Odinson (impossible since spells to confirm paternity were always performed whenever the pregnancy of a pure-blood heir was involved) were the most common.   

And then, after countless owls and months of failed attempts to gain admittance to the Odinson Estate — the location of which was unknown and wildly speculated upon — to confront the wizard who had kidnapped Draco, the man in question simply appeared in his office one night. An impossible feat considering that the anti-Apparition wards on Hogwarts grounds were said to be even stronger than those of Azkaban. He was just as powerful as Lucius had described in his disjointed rants.

_“You’ve been seeking an audience with me, Severus Snape. You now have it.” The dark haired wizard drawled, his casual tone doing nothing to mask the danger emanating from him. Odinson’s eyes were hard as steel despite the flickering amusement. Severus avoided direct eye contact out of habit and an abundance of caution._

_“I want to see Draco. I need to make sure he’s safe.” Severus had tried to demand, but it had come out as more of a plea._

_“His safety is never a question while he is in my care. Something that was not true when he was residing at Malfoy Manor.” Odinson’s demeanor had sharpened and he looked at Severus scornfully. The Potions Master felt a wave of guilt at the words because he had known Lucius’ temper was volatile since Narcissa’s death, but he had never believed he was actually capable of hurting Draco. His regret told him that he was a fool and his shame reminded him of Narcissa’s desperate wish._

_“And yet you still did nothing to protect the child despite your suspicions, Oathbreaker.” Odinson snapped, words dripping with disdain._

_Severus gasped in alarm and confirmed that his occlumency shields were still firmly in place. He strengthened them as best as he could. Lucius had said Odinson was an animagus and had incredible power. Was this mysterious wizard a Legilimens as well? But the man before him wasn’t even holding a wand nor did he ever make eye contact! How was that even possible? Odinson was even more dangerous than he had imagined._

_Cruel laughter interrupted his thoughts. “I am indeed.”_

_“Why did you take him?”_

_“Draco is the child of my magic,” Odinson replied as matter-of-fact as someone stating the time of day. Before Severus could ask what that meant, a hundred different images slammed into his mind. The force of it brought Severus to his knees as he processed the mental pictures assaulting his psyche. They were all of Draco -- smiling, laughing, playing, reading, eating, sleeping. Safe. Happy. His godson’s smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it._

_And then the images were suddenly gone._

_“Oathbreaker,” Odinson scolded, “you failed him and will now suffer the consequences of your uselessness. But you may yet be given a chance to prove your worth and redeem yourself. If you are still the Potions Master here when Draco comes to Hogwarts, you will be free to see him again.”_

_And with that, Odinson had apparated silently and disappeared in a flicker of green and gold light. He was left with an icy fear in his chest that could only be compared to moments in the presence of the Dark Lord._

Severus had wondered often about that night and how much Odinson was able to see in his mind. It was unnerving to think that any of his secrets had been exposed. But the encounter with the enigmatic wizard had given him the knowledge that his godson was safe and that it was only a matter of time before he saw him again.      

The promise of that evening is fulfilled when he lays eyes on Draco for the first time in four years. Even though he’s been bracing himself for this moment, he’s still surprised by it. The boy looks so much like Narcissa, but with Lucius’ pale blond hair. Severus is both happy to see him well and saddened about the years he has missed. He again remembers Narcissa’s words and then berates himself for being so foolish as to dare hope for a second chance. Does the boy even know that Severus is his godfather?  

His penitence filled thoughts are brought to a halt at the sight of a boy with a messy mop of black hair standing next to Draco.  

Severus’ gut twists at the sight of Harry Potter. Even as Draco is called up to be sorted, he cannot tear his eyes away. The boy looks uncannily like his father and memories of James Potter’s bullying come back in a rush. The old anger is still there and has only fermented into a more acidic brine over the years. All of Severus’ ugly emotions — still as thick as they were over a decade ago — choke the life out of any relief he feels at Draco’s sorting into Slytherin.

The Potter boy is called to be sorted after the Patil twins. Leaning forward in anticipation against his will, Severus resents the tension he feels as the Sorting Hat is lowered onto Potter’s head. He hates that he cares about the outcome. Anyone with any sense knows that the boy will surely be sorted into Gryffindor. And yet, he is compelled to give his full attention to the sorting.

When the Hat calls out Slytherin, he believes for a moment that the world has gone utterly mad.  

Any noises of surprise at Harry Potter’s sorting into Slytherin is drowned out by shouts of “We got Potter!” and boisterous cheering uncharacteristic of Slytherin House. His glare at the unbecoming behavior of his House goes unnoticed in the ruckus. Only his guilt and an unspoken promise made to the person he loved most in the world keep him from objecting to the Hat’s sorting of Harry Potter into his House.

Severus still seethes at the thought of a Slytherin Potter despite a small and distant part of him which nags that his rage is more aptly directed at himself.  

 

* * *

 

His Faðir had told him not to underestimate Harry’s fame, but Draco truly didn’t realize how well-known his friend is until whispers break out when Harry Potter’s name is called for the Sorting Ceremony. Furthermore, just as he had thought himself acclimated to the foreign feeling of formality in a hall for feasting, the curious murmurs of interest confuse and irritate Draco. Such behavior would be unthinkable while the Allfather was holding court and speaking about someone in such obvious hushed tones during a feast was an insult. Draco resists the impulse to slam his fist down on the table and issue challenge for them to speak their mind plainly the way he’s seen his Uncle Thor do on occasion.

“Heimdall, these Midgardians are so strange,” Draco mutters under his breath.

Up until Harry’s sorting, the Slytherin students had clapped for their newest members with enthusiasm, but not with the whooping exhibited by the other Houses. Draco is glad he left some space for Harry to sit because some of the older students were getting up and looked ready to mob Harry as he walked towards the table. Draco takes hold of Harry’s wrist and quickly pulls Harry down to sit next to him. He had chosen the corner seat nearest to the dais where the Sorting was held so that Harry wouldn’t have to worry about being crowded on both sides. In no time at all, several of their upperclassmen descend upon their table and crowd out the first year Slytherins who had been seated around them.

Professor McGonagall who had been placing the Sorting Hat on the first years clears her throat loudly and looks pointedly in their direction. She waits a moment before she calls out the next student’s name and continues on with the Sorting Ceremony. Draco tries to pay attention to the rest of the sorting, but it’s difficult with so many of their Housemates whispering tidbits of useful information and helpful hints in what is an obvious attempt to gain some of Harry’s favor.      

Once the Sorting Ceremony has concluded, Headmaster Dumbledore gives the start of term announcements. At one point, the Headmaster mentions that Hogwarts is very old and then makes eye contact with Draco as he says, “do take care not to pull on any threads, you never know what you might unravel." Draco feels a bit sheepish. Apparently, someone did notice him flicking at the wards.

The gasps of delight around him when the feast begins amuses Draco. To him, it all seems like fairly standard fare and he almost wants to scoff but holds back. It isn’t the mortals’ fault that they don’t know how to hold a proper feast. He looks around expectantly wondering what entertainments a Midgardian feast would have — he didn’t think there would be impromptu contests of strength, but perhaps there would there be the telling of great tales as in Asgard? Maybe song? Draco knew there was a vast variety of Midgardian music in both the magical and non-magical worlds.  

He’s piling food onto his second plate when he resigns himself to the fact that the only amusement for the evening will be the company at his table. They ask what which quidditch team he supports and he enthusiastically gushes about the best Skyball team in the American League: the Washington Wampus Cats. The conversation is pleasant and Draco concedes that it is important for new students to become acquainted with their new housemates.

But the “feast” is still of a character that is far too subdued for Draco’s liking. That the ghosts who come out to greet the students appear more “lively” than anyone actually alive in the hall is ridiculous. Everyone is practically frozen in their seat. Is there some unspoken rule against fraternizing? He’s read through the student handbook and there was certainly no prohibition against socializing during meals.

And then, before the evening has really even gotten underway and when Draco has barely started on his third plate, he’s surprised when the dessert appears. His confusion continues when they are told soon after that it is time to retire to the dormitories by an older student with dark brown hair and light blue eyes who introduces herself as their House Prefect.

“Heimdall, I thought this was supposed to be a feast!” He says with exasperation. When everyone around him gives a similar look of bewilderment at his distress, he throws his hands up and resigns himself to the fact that the Midgardian definition of a feast is not at all like the Asgardian one.  

 

* * *

 

As they follow their House Prefect, Gemma Farley, into the dungeons, that part of Draco which was uncertain about his decision to ask the Sorting Hat to put him in Slytherin gnaws at him. He is thankful for Gemma’s bright voice in the dimly lit dungeons, explaining the history of their House and saying things like “Slytherins look after our own.” The pretty fifth year’s warm welcome and introduction to Slytherin as they travel into the depths of the castle is a contrast to their surroundings. It’s so cold and dark down here. There won't be a window to fly out of and Hedwig will hate it. She'll want to stay in the owlery. Despite his determination earlier in the evening, a feeling of uncertainty is beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach. He thought he was making the best decision given the circumstances, but now Draco is wondering if he’s made a mistake. Draco looks over to Harry and sees a look of contentment that he wishes he was feeling.

Fortunately, his anxiety is short lived because when they pass through the secret passage and set foot in a room with walls that are the same green that usually trims his Faðir’s clothes, Draco almost chokes on his laughter.

His first thought is about his Faðir’s suspicion that Salazar Slytherin chose his House’s colors because he admired his Faðir. His second thought is how hilarious he finds the gaudiness of the decor. Draco wonders how no one else is laughing because, really, are they not seeing what he is seeing?

The other students look at him sharply as if he’s ruining some sacred moment. His laughter is just starting to subside when he sees that even the pillows on the couches are also that familiar shade of green which causes a new bout of laughter to erupt from him. The first years near him discretely move away as if he’s got a contagious disease. Even Harry looks a bit embarrassed by Draco’s reaction until Jör gets his attention by hissing something at him loudly.

 _::I’m sorry, I’ll wrap you in something warm later::_ He hears Harry say quietly to Jör and practically everyone in the room gasps. Draco wants to roll his eyes at the reaction because everyone’s seen Harry talking to his familiar. And the ginger boy probably told anyone who would listen about their encounter. Honestly, these cunning Slytherins should have already worked out that Harry is a parselmouth. Still, he gives them the benefit of the doubt and decides that they are probably just shocked by hearing parseltongue for the first time and not actually completely dense.

“Jör’s cold again?” Draco asks Harry casually while every eye is on them.

:: _Yeah, you know how she gets::_ Harry replies while still looking at Jör and clearly self-conscious at his housemates’ reaction to his gift. While Draco doesn’t like Harry feeling this way, he’s glad for it at the moment because he knows that Harry automatically speaks parseltongue whenever he’s looking at a snake. Murmurs ripple through the room. This time, Draco does roll his eyes.   

“Well, she’s either that or she’s hungry. Really, does she ever do anything but complain?” He asks in an amused tone. He’s declaring that he’s Harry’s ally and showing the other students that he’s just as strangely gifted by conversing him in this way.

 _::Maybe that’s just your bad influence::_ Harry teases with a small smile.

Draco laughs into the stunned silence that surrounds them and agrees, “Yes, that’s most definitely it.” He scans the expressions of the gathered students - Draco sees a mix of surprised, thoughtful, and curious faces. Only one of the first year girls looks apprehensive. He reaches over to rest a reassuring hand on the back of Harry’s neck and can feel himself grinning. _Slytherin was the right choice_. Draco thinks to himself.         

After a moment, a harsh voice barks out, “If you two are quite finished?”

Draco and Harry snap to attention as Professor Snape approaches. Taking in their Head of House, Draco tries to be open-minded as he’s been taught but there’s just something about Severus Snape that he doesn’t like. The Potions Master is so...blank and lifeless. It’s inhuman. It has to be a mask. Earlier, during dinner (Draco refuses to call it a “feast” on principle), he had noticed Snape’s foreboding presence. While his housemates had spoken with respect about the Potions Professor, his enhanced hearing had caught bits of conversation at other tables that speculated about an allegiance to the Dark. _What could he be hiding?_ Draco had wondered.

Even if the man is his Head of House, Draco concludes almost immediately that Snape cannot be trusted. _Or perhaps_ , he thinks wryly, _it is precisely because he is the Head of Slytherin that he cannot be trusted_. Draco admits to himself that he doesn’t know as much about Slytherin as he does the other Houses. He has some vague memories of his old tutors saying it was the best House, but after he left that life behind, he never cared to ask many questions about Slytherin.  

As far as he could recall, his Faðir’s stories about Salazar Slytherin were never all that exciting. Not the way the stories about Helga Hufflepuff or Godric Gryffindor were. Even Rowena Ravenclaw’s clever way with words was more interesting to him than stories of the way Slytherin would use his cunning “to battle in contests of ideas.” Whatever _that_ meant. Draco had never bothered to ask for more particulars.    

“You have all been chosen for the honor of joining the most prestigious House of Slytherin. No doubt, many of you have been raised to understand fulfilling the duty of one’s station. For those of you who haven’t had the benefit of a proper upbringing, know that your position in this House comes with certain expectations and responsibilities. You are expected to conduct themselves with the proper decorum of your House.” Snape drawls ominously.

Draco bites his lip to stop from laughing again. Snape’s words are dripping with arrogance and his monologue is filled with overly dramatic pauses. But he makes himself pay attention as their Head of House continues — he can’t play the game if he doesn’t know what the board looks like.

“There is a reason why Slytherin is resented by other houses. It is because we are better. Superior in every way. We do not focus on the insignificant in the way that Ravenclaws do as they get lost in the minutia, we do not follow blind sentiment the way that the Hufflepuffs do, and we do not — I repeat — we do not act like fools in search of their own glory.” The Potions Professor pauses and fixes a menacing glare in their direction. Draco crosses his arms defensively while Harry audibly swallows and nods his head quickly.

“We have won the House Cup for the past 6 years in a row and I expect that tradition to continue. Be dedicated to your studies, do not be caught breaking school rules, and abstain from engaging in the kind of frivolity which will result in losing House points. Disputes amongst yourselves are to be settled here and not as a spectacle for those in other Houses who would take great pleasure gloating over our weaknesses. There is no reason to show them anything but our strength. Such displays reflect poorly on us all.”

 _Norns, what have I gotten us into?_   Draco laments and wonders what Slytherins were expected to do for fun. _And if they are even allowed to have any_. He thinks wryly.  

“Ah, one other thing: the term ‘mudblood’ is not to be uttered outside this House. No exceptions. You must learn the proper place for… unpopular sentiment.” Snape says meaningfully. Several of the other first years straighten in response whereas Draco is annoyed that he doesn’t understand the subtext. He remembers what his Faðir has said about things which can’t be learned in books.

“You are dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

When they are dismissed to go into the dormitories, Draco grabs their trunks from the hallway where they’ve all been deposited and Harry pulls him to the last room on the boy’s side. Slytherin House is located so deep that the lake is outside their windows. There are 3 four-poster beds with green silk hangings. Harry thinks that the bed furthest away from the window might be the warmest for Jör, so he walks directly to that one.

Draco is still standing at the doorway, taking in the room with a hand over his mouth and his shoulders shaking. _He’s laughing again._ Harry wants to bury his face in his hands. It had been nothing short of mortifying when they had first entered the common room and his best friend had burst into laughter. Then, they had caused such a scene just because he wanted Jör to stop complaining so loudly. The disapproving look on his Head of House’s face made Harry feel awful. It was frustrating and Harry felt uncomfortable standing out so much.     

“Why do you keep laughing at everything?” he asks exasperatedly.

“How are you not? The decor is so hideous! It’s brilliant!” Draco beams.

“Was getting sorted into Slytherin some kind of joke for you?” Harry demands, feeling defensive over his House. It was surprising when the Sorting Hat had called out Slytherin when Draco was sorted. In the short time that he’d known the blond, he’d heard Draco talk much more about being in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. But Harry was determined to keep his promise to follow him and said as much to the Sorting Hat.

 _"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes_ — _and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you?"_

_Harry had gripped the edges of the stool and thought, “Slytherin. Please put me with Draco in Slytherin.”_

The smug Hat was only too pleased to oblige, agreeing that Harry would go far in Slytherin. During the feast, he was greeted and welcomed by so many of his fellow Slytherins. They seemed so eager to give him helpful information. And then, when Harry found out that their head of house was the Potions Master during the feast, he felt as though everything had aligned perfectly. _I really do belong in Slytherin,_ Harry had thought with awe.

He and Draco have been talking about being sorted together at Hogwarts since the day they met and, alright maybe that was only just over a month ago, but Draco had always talked about it like it was _special_. And right now Draco isn’t acting like it’s special at all.

His friend’s smile instantly falls away and the look of guilt that flashes on Draco’s face is enough for Harry to realize that he’s misunderstood. “No! Not at all, Harry! I couldn’t be happier than to be sorted into Slytherin with you!” Draco declares. Harry chews on his bottom lip, feeling uncertain.

“Excuse me?” a taller boy with dark olive skin pokes his head into the room. “Is that third bed taken?” he asks politely.

“It’s free if you want it,” Draco says to the newcomer, eyes focused and appraising. “You know who we are. Who are you?”

Their fellow Slytherin looks taken aback and then says dejectedly, “Blaise Zabini. I —” he pauses hesitantly, “Draco, do you really not remember me?”

Draco says nothing in response and Zabini continues.

“When we were children, I’d sometimes visit Malfoy Manor and we’d play together. When you were...taken away...my mother would hardly let me out of her sight and I couldn’t go into the gardens for months. I thought...I thought I’d never see you again.” Zabini’s face looks regretful and Harry wonders how often this boy thought of Draco growing up. He can’t imagine how he’d feel if Draco suddenly disappeared from his life. Harry thinks he might be jealous of Zabini for knowing Draco longer. _Is he the friend who Draco mentioned? The one who gave him the book?_ Harry wonders. Except that Draco doesn’t seem to remember Zabini. Not to mention that Zabini’s just brought up the one thing that can ruin his best friend’s mood like nothing else.

Harry is expecting the anger that flashes through Draco’s eyes at Zabini’s words but is surprised when Draco suddenly grins widely and starts laughing.

“You’re not bad, but I can tell that none of that was real,” Draco scoffs. “Try again, Zabini.”

Zabini’s expression morphs from the gentle and uncertain one into a more self-assured look. In fact, their housemate’s entire demeanor changes while his posture straightens and he lifts his chin challengingly. Zabini’s light brown eyes are filled with an arrogance that wasn’t present when he first introduced himself. Harry is impressed despite himself at the other boy’s act. He had been completely taken in.

 _Is this Slytherin cunning?_ Harry wonders and resolves to be more observant. _Is this what the Sorting Hat meant when it said that Slytherin would help “on the way to greatness”?_  He’ll have to ask Draco later what he found out of place in what seemed to be a pretty convincing performance.    

“I want to know what _really_ happened to you. How did Draco Malfoy become Draco Odinson?” Zabini admits unapologetically.

Draco steps closer to Zabini to look the other boy in the eye. “You want more than just the answer to that question,” he appraises, “You want information. Hardly anything is known about my family.”

Zabini nods.

With narrowed eyes, Draco says tonelessly, “If you prove yourself as a valuable ally, then perhaps I’ll eventually decide when you’ve earned it.” Then, Draco gives Zabini a toothy grin. “But, I’d give the information freely to a true friend,” he goads. It sounds like a dare and a promise at the same time. He meaningfully extends his hand to Zabini who reacts with confusion at the unexpected gesture.

For a moment, it looks like Zabini is going to reach out his hand in return before he seems to remember himself and responds gruffly, “I understand your terms.”

“Take the bed by the window, then,” Draco says with a dismissive wave towards it. Zabini complies without hesitation.

The long silence that follows is thick and awkward.

“So…” Harry begins, but then Draco puts a hand up to stop him from saying anything more. He comes over to scoop up the pile of clothes Jör has settled into at the foot of Harry’s bed. Draco holds the pile of clothes in front of Harry’s face and then Jör pokes his head out sleepily, likely wondering why she’s suddenly been moved.

“Alright, go ahead,” Draco prompts.

 _::You want me to ask my questions in parseltongue::_ Harry says while looking at Jör and he sees Draco nodding out of the corner of his eye. _::You don’t trust Zabini?::_ then looks up.

“No. Not yet. Maybe soon, maybe never. It depends.” and Draco glances quickly at their fellow Slytherin who currently has his back faced to them while unpacking things from his trunk.

Harry looks down at Jör and asks, _::If you don’t trust him, then why would you want him as our roommate?::_ and then looks up at Draco again.

Draco frowns and gives Harry a reproving look. He gestures in the direction of Zabini with more than a hint of annoyance. Harry rolls his eyes then looks back at Jör.

 _::Are you seriously telling me to only ask yes or no questions right now?::_ Harry asks while his eyes are on Jör. Draco doesn’t respond, so he looks up and Draco nods in affirmation. Harry sighs and looks at Jör again. _::this seems a bit…::_ Harry’s brain reaches for an appropriate word, but he finds it difficult to choose between “excessive,” “paranoid,” and “mental” so he chooses not to complete his sentence and lets the implication speak for itself.

Draco just shrugs and Harry rolls his eyes.

Harry thinks over the events of the evening since their sorting into Slytherin, from the shocked gasps in the Great Hall when the Sorting Hat had called out his House’s name to Zabini’s attempted deception.

 _::Did you know it would be like this in Slytherin?::_ Harry queries.

“I had an idea.” his friend drawls, looking up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. And maybe Harry hasn’t known Draco that long, but he’s known him at least long enough to know when he’s holding something back. He feels frustrated.

 _::Then, why? You always talked about making friends in Hufflepuff or having adventures in Gryffindor!::_ Harry pauses but his jumbled thoughts refuse to organize themselves. _::The Sorting Hat said I’d do well in Slytherin. Did...did you know? Did you come here because of me?::_

Draco's eyes light up with mischief and he declares, “Because garden gnomes, Harry!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~! Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day at Hogwarts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay - July is a very busy month for me! I loved all the comments on the last chapter! I’m really happy that there was such a great response to Blaise. Initially, had written out the scene with him intending for him to be the person he was acting like and then he took control of the scene ^_^ Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments, I really appreciate you taking the time to give me feedback!
> 
> My beta has been busy, so this is unbeta’d once again. Apologies for my errors and I hope they do not hinder your enjoyment of the story. I’ll try to go back and fix what I can!
> 
> Finally, special thanks to my muse, Chip ~

  
  


His first day at Hogwarts, Draco is awake slightly before dawn. It’s a habit that’s been built into him since he was a child, so he’s not surprised to wake up in the darkness before everyone else. Seeing no point in trying to go back to sleep, Draco slips out of bed and decides to go out for a quick run before breakfast. He changes into his usual training attire — a sleeveless long tunic with loose fitting trousers underneath. It was plain save for a few runes which his Faðir had taught him how to add years ago to protect his fair skin from the sun. Draco remembers when a long day of sparring in Asgard with his Aunt Sif had left him with the skin tones of a beet. It feels incomplete without arm bracers or hand wraps, but he’s not going to be practicing archery or hitting a training post. He frowns and thinks that he'll have to figure out how to keep up his training. Draco hates the thought of disappointing his Uncle Thor with poor combat skills. It will be less than 4 months until they return to Asgard during the Hogwarts winter break, but that is enough time for his reflexes to deteriorate.

Once he steps outside the castle, he scans the landscape. He recalls the Headmaster’s prohibition against going into the forest (and with a name like The Forbidden Forest, how could one forget really?), so he won't be heading that way. Draco catches sight of hooped goal posts in the distance and decides that a quick jog to and from the quidditch pitch would do fine. Even at a fairly casual pace, he is able to complete his planned route much faster than he had thought he would. Tomorrow, Draco thinks he'll run it a bit swifter and add a lap or two around the pitch. Maybe even practice some forms by the lake.

When he returns to his dormitory, it’s been less than an hour since he left. Harry is still asleep in bed asleep while Zabini is awake and looking out the of the window into the murky green waters outside.

“Good morning, Zabini.” Draco greets.

“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?” is Zabini’s reply.

“Don’t you know what Scandinavian wizarding robes look like?” Draco answers. Zabini’s scowl makes him snort in amusement.

“Those look nothing like Scandinavian wizarding robes. More like Scandinavian wizarding pyjammas. You had better not lose us any House points because you like playing dress up.” Zabini grumbles.

“Hogwarts Dress Code: ‘Students will wear their Hogwarts robes beginning with breakfast through the final meal of the day whether or not a student has completed all class obligations. Other attire may be worn at weekends and during free time,’” Draco recites. “It’s not breakfast yet,” he adds smugly.

Zabini gives continues his unimpressed stare.

“Relax, Zabini. Just a bit of light training before the day starts.” Draco comments before nudging Harry awake and then heading to the showers.

 

* * *

 

It had been surprising and a little startling to find Odinson’s bed empty in the morning. Blaise’s first thought was to wonder if his roommate had been taken away against his will. No doubt an association with Odinson’s moniker as the Boy-Who-Was-Kidnapped. He dismissed the silly notion almost as soon as it came to mind, recalling that Hogwarts is as heavily warded as the Ministry of Magic.

Everyone in pureblood society knew the scandal of Lucius Malfoy mysteriously losing his heir to a Scandinavian wizard named Odinson. The events surrounding Draco’s disappearance had fascinated him as a child. Blaise’s favorite theory back then was that Draco had been taken by Odinson because of a strong resemblance to a son who had been killed by wild muggles. Looking back, he almost cringed at his younger self’s naive daydreaming.

Blaise had often wondered what it would feel like to be so wanted. To have someone go so far just because they wanted him in their life that much. Blaise’s father had died when he was a baby and his mother had married twice since, but neither of them ever wanted to adopt him as their son. His mother’s eighth husband had been nice and even threw a quaffle around with him once until his mother became silently enraged at not being the center of attention. His stepfather had stopped the game abruptly, looking nervously over at her before apologizing quickly and mumbling something about how they should make sure she was happy. That man was dead now, so maybe he wasn’t so good at it.

 _Then again, Mother was always impossible to please_ , Blaise thinks and then recalls their trip to Diagon Alley in the summer.

_“Darling, don’t be ridiculous. The color doesn’t suit your skin tone at all. Put that back,” his mother had chided. Blaise obeyed without question. His mother is always generous with her gifts, but she only ever purchased the things that met with her approval. Blaise reminded himself that he shouldn’t complain because Mother always picked out the best for him. She took pride in her notoriety as one of the most beautiful witches in the world and was meticulous about appearance. Everything down to the smallest adornment was deliberately composed to add to her allure. It was only natural that her son should emulate that perfection. Mother simply wanted him to have the best advantage possible._

_Still, Blaise often wondered if the day would ever come when his opinions would actually count for something._

_“Have you memorized all the charms to keep your appearance up while at Hogwarts? Remember that you need to cast the charm for your hair every 3 weeks or else it will lose its shape and become scraggly.” Mother reminded him for the fifth time that day._

_“Yes, Mother,” Blaise said dutifully. It was automatic to agree with her. He knew that disagreement would only lead to unpleasantness. Mother always got her way._

_“Remember, Darling, the way you present yourself is of utmost importance. You can only make a first impression once. You do understand, don’t you, darling?”_

_“I understand, Mother.” His responses have been perfunctory since he was six years old. Blaise still remembers the night when was locked in his room and not given dinner when he tried to insist that he wanted to make his hair like the Roman sculptures he had seen at the museum. He had cried all night. The next day, Mother had only let him out once he apologized and said that the way she styled his hair was the best. It was always better not to argue with Mother. “And I’ll be sure to read the first chapters of my books before the term starts so as to make a good impression on my professors,” Blaise added in an attempt to gain some measure of goodwill for his dedication to putting his best foot forward. Of course, Mother didn’t acknowledge it. She continued on as if he hadn’t spoken a word._

_“The cut of your school robes is atrocious. I need to have them altered by a true professional who knows what they are doing,” she complained. Blaise reminded himself that it was stupid to be disappointed by something so insignificant. Mother doesn’t mean to ignore him, she simply has a million thoughts in her head and finding fault with the world around her is her special ability. Mother hears some child exclaim in a “common” accent and she looks as if she’s been forced to smell rotting fish. “_ Honestly. _As if it isn’t enough that we need to come into such a common shop to purchase your school robes. I can only imagine what Madam Malkin has done to win such exclusivity.” Blaise had looked away to roll his eyes. Madam Malkin’s was more accessible and Twilfitt and Tattings did well enough without needing to carry school robes in their inventory. He couldn’t have said any of that out loud to Mother, of course. Challenging or contradicting her opinions never led to anything good._

 _“Once we’re done here, we should get — Oh,_ Circe _… ” His Mother stopped speaking altogether. Taken aback and curious to know what had derailed Mother’s thoughts so thoroughly, Blaise followed her line of sight to see that she was looking at a tall, dark haired wizard wearing unusual clothing. Mother was wearing a smile that reminded him of the painting that sat in their foyer of a tiger stalking its prey. The man exited the shop followed by two boys — one with white-blond hair wearing similarly strange clothing and another boy with glasses wearing clothes so atrocious they could only be muggle. “I do believe that was the reclusive Lord Odinson. It appears that the Lost Heir will be arriving at Hogwarts this term. How interesting.”_

_Blaise had never imagined that the Boy-Who-Was-Kidnapped might ever go to Hogwarts. It seemed obvious that the missing boy would wind up at Durmstrang if anything since he was taken by a Scandinavian wizard. When he was younger, Blaise had wondered if trying to go to Durmstrang on the chance that he could get to ask questions about what happened was worth it. But now, if the Malfoy-heir-turned-Odinson-heir was going to Hogwarts maybe he could finally learn the truth about what happened. Before Blaise could gather anymore of his surprised thoughts, his mother grabbed his shoulder roughly._

_“Blaise, pay attention!” she snapped turning to him with excitement in her hazel tinted eyes, “You will befriend Draco Odinson at Hogwarts. You will find out everything you can about his family. And most important of all, you will get an introduction for me to meet his reclusive guardian. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes, Mother.”_

_“That’s my sweet boy. Of course, you do, darling.” she cooed and patted his shoulder affectionately. “Now, come along.”_

_He had smiled, thinking that he would have tried to get close to Odinson even if his mother hadn’t directed him to._

-

Blaise was used to performing a role to suit the expectations of others and he had thought that the role of “lost friend” was the best one to get close to the Boy-Who-Was-Kidnapped. Technically, he hadn’t even been lying about having met Odinson before he disappeared — Blaise is mostly certain that they must have crossed paths at some point. And when he was a child, Blaise imagined countless times what it would have been like in aftermath of the kidnapping if they had actually been friends. He thought that he could play it well, but Blaise’s nostalgic fantasy caused him to make an unfortunate miscalculation last night.

When Odinson saw through his pretense, Blaise had fallen back on offering himself as an ally the way his Mother had suggested before he had boarded the train. He made it clear that he wanted information. And in return, rather than state what he’d want in return like a civilized wizard, Odinson had taunted him with the idea of friendship? As if Blaise would fall for that. No Slytherin would offer such a thing of value so easily to someone they just met without first having proven a mutually beneficial alliance could be had. The secretive conversation that Odinson and Potter had made it obvious that he wasn’t trusted. The only thing that Blaise was able to learn was that garden gnomes were the reason for… something.        

When a lively Odinson walks into the room in clothes that look more suited to sleeping than wandering the castle at the break of dawn, he decides that an annoyed roommate role is the best way to ask about the strange attire without seeming too interested. Blaise feels his resolve strengthen; he’ll solve the odd puzzle that is Draco Odinson no matter what.  

 

* * *

 

The Potions Master gives his usual introduction the first day of class: "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science of the potion making. However, for those of you who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses; I can tell you how to brew glory, bottle fame, and even put a stopper in death.”

Severus passes over those first-years with the usual anxious reactions. He focuses in on the students who don’t follow the norm: a Gryffindor girl who looks like she is eagerly waiting for a chance to speak, a very bored looking Draco, and the Potter boy who listens with rapt attention. It is uncomfortable to be the focus of fascinated eyes that looks so much like Lily’s. The familiar guilt of his past mistakes bubbles up in his gut uncomfortably. And it doesn’t matter that the boy has been sorted into his House, Severus reflexively reaches for his only defense.

“Mr. Potter, our new celebrity.” He drawls. The boy’s eyes falter and he looks uncomfortable. Severus takes satisfaction in it even while that distant part of his mind is chastising him for treating one of his own Slytherins so harshly.  

“Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” The first class is an introduction to all the tools used in potion-making to ensure that these children do not damage any equipment, but the words spill out from Severus’ mouth without any thought for the lesson plan for the day.  

“I…” Potter begins and then gulps nervously. Severus curses his inability to control his reaction to Lily's child. His frown deepens as he becomes painfully aware that he’s facilitated a show of weakness within his House and now he’ll have to take House points. In his peripheral vision, Severus sees a hand shoot up. The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl no doubt. Draco also makes a sudden movement to sit up straighter, likely preparing to be called upon next. But Severus’ keeps his gaze fixed on Potter and formulates the best response to minimize the damage of his inability to control his reaction for when the boy admits his lack of knowledge. _These are basic facts which you will all learn this term and I expect you to all to be prepared to answer such questions with ease by the time of your examinations._ Severus thinks he can probably avoid taking points if his frames it that way.      

“Those are the ingredients for Draught of Living Death, Sir.” Potter answers. And it’s so surprising that Potter was able to answer the question that his perfect mask of indifference almost slips. His eyes narrow slightly and he can’t help but ask another question.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Potter’s eyes brighten and he answers immediately this time. “In the belly of a goat, Sir.” The confidence with which the boy responds prompts Severus to ask a third question. Why exactly he keeps pushing, he’s not quite sure. Perhaps he hopes that the boy has taken more after Lily than his unfortunate resemblance suggests.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

“They are...different names for aconite, Sir?”

“Indeed. 10 points to Slytherin.” Severus looks at Potter thoughtfully for a moment before he turns his glare upon the rest of the class, “Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" he growls impatiently.

The entire class is suddenly scrambling for their quills to write down the information save for Draco. The blond boy’s bored expression is gone and he’s looking at Severus very peculiarly. He feels a pang of loss at not having been able to know his godson these last few years and the bitter reminder of his failure to honor his promise to Narcissa before he promptly shoves the feeling away. The rest of the first lesson passes in routine fashion as Severus lectures about the different types of cauldrons and vials. 

 

* * *

 

Draco didn’t think it was possible, but their second class of the day — Herbology — is even more of a bore than Potions. Harry is far too excited about the subject, pointing out various plants to Draco with a happy grin before Professor Sprout arrives. Even Jör is having a better time, happy to be out in the warmth of the greenhouses.  

They have Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and there is a very noticeable divide wherein those in black and yellow scarves are on one side of the greenhouse while the ones in green and silver occupy the other side. After a childhood filled with imagining Aunt Sif as best friends with Helga Hufflepuff, it’s a bit disenchanting to see the Hufflepuffs acting so timidly. Draco also hates how warily they seem to be looking at their Slytherin classmates. Gemma had made light of Slytherin’s stigma for subscribing to the Dark Arts and suggested that it could be fun to hint at having a whole library full of curses. Draco, however, found himself troubled by her flippant attitude. He felt that it was wrong to encourage that perception.  

Draco resented the implication that Slytherins were somehow suspect because the “Dark Arts” were so strongly associated with his House. Draco was a warrior of Asgard, a Protector of the Realms. To be viewed as a villain simply because Midgard had such backwards thinking about the nature of magic was infuriating.

Certainly, there were magics that were called unpredictable and often "came with a price too heavy to pay.” Manipulating the metaphysical essence of a being was delicate and could too easily damage soul and spirit. Using blood as a catalyst was complex and could have dire consequences. Magic could require all kinds of sacrifice on a spectrum of pain and death and magic. But, in the other realms, these were not considered inherently evil as they were in Midgard and the prohibitions against their use had more to do with intent rather than its nature. For instance, a spell using blood to create a bond between those in love was acceptable, but one used to enslave was prohibited. It was this nuance that the wizarding society of Midgard did not understand.

The magical mortals were still early in their discovery and development of magic. It made sense for certain distasteful practices to fall out of favor as Midgardian civilization progressed. But defining “Dark Magic” as “magic used to cause harm, control, or death to the victim” missed the point. Practically all magic had the potential to be used in that way. By its own definition, _everyone_ practiced “dark magic” in some form. The same severing charm which cuts hair harmlessly could be used to murder. A levitation charm used to help an elderly person up the stairs could be used to cause a person to fall from a great height.

Ultimately, the “Dark Arts” simply referred to a vague grouping of magics in Midgardian wizarding society which essentially encompassed whatever the Midgardian magical mortals felt was morally objectionable at the time. The ebbs and flow of culture determined the acceptable boundaries from decade to decade. Additionally, regional differences made some forms of magic perfectly acceptable in one area of the world and unthinkable in another.

His Faðir had taught him that magic was shaped by the intent of the one who wields it. A neutral force that could be used to heal or kill and create or destroy. It was like a living element whose power had to be respected and whose power over same carried a grave responsibility. Magic was neither good nor evil. It is what people choose to do with it which ultimately defines its character.

Draco’s stomach suddenly growls and he wishes that the class was over already so they could go have their lunch. He didn’t get to eat as much breakfast as he’d liked because he got distracted by the delivery of the _New York Ghost_ and caught up reading an article profiling the top Skyball Seekers. He silently bemoans that the greenhouses are located on the opposite side of the castle. By the time they navigate their way to the Great Hall they will likely only a little over half an hour to eat in order to ensure that leave in time to find their History of Magic classroom. That just isn’t enough time to eat a proper meal. And then it’s another 6 hours until dinner and by that time Draco will be absolutely ravenous. Last night’s dinner, while far from anything resembling a feast (he’s trying his best not to remain bitter about that disappointment), wasn’t terrible at least. He thinks longingly about the sights and sounds and smells of a real feast in Asgard. He imagines the taste and texture of his favorite dish and his mouth waters.

“I’m so hungry I could eat an entire eikthyrnir!” At Harry’s confused look, Draco remembers that they don’t have eikthyrnir on Midgard and thinks of the closest resemblance to it found in this realm, “I meant… an entire _deer_.”

Harry looks at Draco and then says with all seriousness, “I really think you could, actually.”

Draco laughs and bumps shoulders with his friend lightly.

 

* * *

 

While he loved his morning classes, Harry isn’t as interested in the afternoon ones. Harry is pretty sure that he fell asleep at some point during History of Magic. Even with Draco frequently interrupting the droning of the ghostly Professor Binns to ask questions about all manner of things, it felt like the longest hour of his life. Harry had always hated the subject of History. He thought it had to be the most uninteresting, impractical, _useless_ subject there was. During his month at the Odinson Estate, he made himself pay attention to Loki’s lessons about the History of the Wizarding World because he figured he ought to know at least some major events. But learning all the details? Harry’s eyes reflexively unfocused any time he tried to read his History of Magic textbook.

Their final class of the day is Defense Against the Dark Arts. And though DADA sounded like an exciting topic, Professor Quirrell is a bit of a quack and can't finish any of his stories. Plus, he smells funny (even Jör thinks so).    

Draco is snickering at the spell that Professor Quirrell is lecturing them on and pokes Harry, whispering, “That’s the dumbest incantation I’ve ever heard.”

Harry doesn’t look at Draco, attempting to maintain the pretense that he’s paying attention to class, as he queries back quietly, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s quite silly, isn’t it?” Draco muffles more giggles behind his hand. “I mean, what kind of spell is ‘lamp’? 'Light' would make more sense.”

He turns his head in surprise. “Draco…” Harry begins with some confusion, “Professor Quirrell didn’t say ‘lamp.’ He said ‘ _lumos_.’”

Draco snorts and his smile doesn’t falter, “You just said ‘lamp’ twice!”

“No, I said—”

“A-a-a-alright everyone! P-p-p-please p-practice the Lumos Charm now.” Professor Quirrell instructs. Draco looks thoroughly amused as their classmates start practicing the Lumos Charm. Harry is fairly acquainted with his best friend’s quirky sense of humor, but he has a feeling that something is off and has a hunch of what it might be. He squeezes Draco’s arm to get his attention.

“Do you hear everyone saying lamp or _lumos_?” Harry probes.

Draco rolls his eyes. “‘Lamp or lamp?’ That’s really not a very good joke, Harry.”

“Allspeak!” Harry exclaims and that gets Draco’s attention. “The charm is in Latin and you can’t hear the Latin because of Allspeak!” 

Draco’s eyes widen in understanding and he flips through his textbook. He finds the page describing the Lumos Charm. Harry remembers Draco saying that Allspeak doesn’t work with written words. His watches as Draco stares at the page for a long moment and then says…

“Lamp.”

Harry winces.

Draco looks up and his face falls, “Please don’t tell me…”

“You said, ‘lamp’ again, Draco. Not ‘ _lumos_.’”

Draco’s head thumps against his desk.

 

* * *

 

As the darkness and light compete in the skies of Asgard at the end of a long day, Loki wanders past the palace gates for much-needed solitude. His recent arrival had coincided with his golden brother’s return from subduing a bold band of marauders attempting to plunder a remote town in Vanaheim. They likely thought the village too small to catch the notice of Asgard and certainly not significant enough to merit the attention of the Mighty Thor. Such assumptions were pure stupidity. The smallest hint of rumor was enough for Thor come running if it offered the possibility to wield Mjølnir in battle. And even if it was only a minor skirmish at best, Thor demanded that his victory against such rabble be celebrated with feasting.  

Without his little dragon’s presence, such things are so much less tolerable.

In the time since Draco has come to live with him, the times apart from the child of his magic have been rare. Whenever he had to leave the boy in Frigga’s care while Odin tasked him with some diplomatic assignment, Loki would appear to Draco in his dreams. It became habit to check on Draco during these nights away from each other. The boy’s imagination was vast and it was always amusing to walk into a dream wherein Draco was single-handedly defending Asgard from a hoard of Eldjötnar or whatnot. But less than a day in Asgard had passed for him and Loki is unsure of how much time has passed for Draco on Midgard at present. He thinks probably not too much time, but the time differentials between realms were constantly shifting in a pattern only discernable by Heimdall.

He has never been friends with the taciturn guardian of the Bifrost. They’ve hardly exchanged conversation. But tonight he’s walked the entire length of the rainbow bridge while lost in thought and reaches the end of it. Without really intending to, he is in the presence of the one other person not in attendance at the feast. He hadn’t planned on approaching the golden-armored Heimdall tonight, but now that he’s found himself here…

“How fares Draco?” Loki asks knowing that Heimdall’s attention is routinely drawn to Draco’s activities whenever his little dragon calls out to the gatekeeper in excitement.

“The little prince is well. Discontented at times, but well.” Heimdall reports formally, then turns his head slightly towards Loki, “The first night, he muttered to me some disappointment about what passes for a feast on Midgard.” There is a small upturn of his mouth that could almost be the shadow of a smile.  

Loki lets out a startled laugh. Apparently, Draco also likes to make spontaneous complaints to Heimdall as well. “Ah, well, nothing too heinous for him to endure then.” He blinks as his mind repeats in full what Heimdall has said and then adds, "You said, 'the first night'?"

“Nearly a week has passed in Midgard. The little prince misses his father and wishes for his counsel.” Heimdall informs Loki. He did not anticipate that so much time could have already passed for Draco. More often than not, the time differential between realms flows such that more time passes on Asgard, not less. The concern he was feeling must have shown on his face because Heimdall added, “The branches of Yggdrasil rarely sway in this manner. But these times are as fleeting as the wind.”

“Thank you, Heimdall. It eases my worry to know that you watch over him so. I shall check in on him this evening. I am eager to hear all about Draco's first week at his new place of learning.” Loki says before he goes back to his rooms and focuses on traversing and projecting his presence across the realms and into Draco’s dream.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to clarify that last scene - Loki went to Asgard after dropping Draco and Harry off. Because of the time differential between realms, a week has passed in Midgard even though Loki has been in Asgard for less than a day. This is unusual and caught Loki off guard. Heimdall reassures him that it’s only for a short while. The time differential between realms will fluctuate and reverse by the time of Hogwarts winter break and Draco will spend that time in Asgard to offset his slowed aging. I hope that makes sense!
> 
> The next update will be delayed because I'm rewriting/restructuring the next few chapters. Also, life stuff has gotten very hectic. But, I am so excited to tell the rest of this story and will try to get back to regular updates as soon as possible! Thank you so much for your patience and thank you so much for reading~! 
> 
> 12/11/2017: My sincere apologies for the unintended hiatus this story seems to have taken. It is not abandoned and I am still working on it. I will start posting chapters regularly again once I've got the next chunk of the story mostly finished so that any additional long breaks will occur in between major "arcs" if that makes sense.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns more about his House while Draco works out his frustration at his inability to cast Charms because of Allspeak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer-than-planned hiatus! Work on the story slowed down to a crawl when life got busy, but I never once thought of abandoning this story. Thank you so much for sticking with me and for not giving up on the story. All of the encouraging comments and messages I received have meant so much to me! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter after an extra long break!

  
_...Previously..._

 

_“Allspeak,” Harry says seriously and that gets Draco’s attention. “The incantation is in Latin and you can’t hear the Latin because of Allspeak!” he voices his suspicions._

_Draco’s eyes widen in understanding and he flips through his textbook. He finds the page describing the Lumos Charm. Harry remembers Draco saying that Allspeak doesn’t work with written words. His watches as Draco stares at the page for a long moment and then says…_

_“Lamp.”_

_Harry winces._

_Draco looks up and his face falls, “Please don’t tell me…”_

_“You said, ‘lamp’ again, Draco. Not ‘lumos.’”_

_Draco’s head thumps against his desk._

 

* * *

 

When class is dismissed, Draco mumbles, “I’ll meet you later at dinner. I have to go… I need to…” and then rushes out without another word while Harry is still gathering his things. He’s never seen Draco look so out of sorts. Harry tries to follow, hoping there might be something he can do to help, but he doubles over in pain before reaching the hallway. His scar is burning again. It’s even more intense than the short burst of pain he experienced during the welcome feast. He reaches up to massage his forehead hoping that it will provide some relief.

“Easy there, Potter,” a smooth and familiar voice says before a hand takes hold of his elbow and tugs him up and out of the classroom. After a few steps down the hall, the pain starts to recede and he straightens. Harry turns his head to see who helped him out of the classroom.  

“Zabini?” Harry asks because the world is just starting to come back into focus.

“Do you need to see the mediwitch?” inquires the still slightly blurry figure who Harry decides is definitely Zabini.

“I’m fine,” he replies and adjusts his glasses. “Did you see where Draco went?”

“No.” The taller boy steps back and takes note of Harry’s appearance. “You don’t seem well, Potter. Best we head back to the common room. It puts us all at a disadvantage if anyone of us shows weakness.” He nods in agreement, remembering the admonitions given by their Head of House’s when they first arrived in Slytherin House.

Despite Zabini’s failed subterfuge the night before, Harry surprisingly doesn’t feel too guarded. He falls into step with Zabini without comment. Throughout his first day at Hogwarts, there’s been a strong sense of solidarity amongst the Slytherins. While he had expected Draco’s defensiveness and pretended not to notice, Harry didn’t expect to see some of his fellow Slytherins to be leveling icy glares of their own when whispers had followed Harry in the halls. The implicit support was an unexpected comfort for which Harry was grateful.

The pair walks together in silence until they reach the entrance to the Slytherin common room where Zabini crisply speaks the password before Harry can recall it.   

“Verisimilitude.”

When they enter the common room, Harry feels a palpable change in atmosphere. The air is stiff and muted even as other students have seated themselves in several small clusters to socialize or study. They feign disinterest well, but the shrewdness in their eyes gives their intent away. Harry remembers Loki’s lessons about being attentive to context and recalls Zabini’s artifice from the night before with this new perspective in mind. Understanding dawns on Harry: _This is what Draco meant about garden gnomes._

Regardless of what he’s seen of his House today, a different game is played within the walls of Slytherin.

Harry follows Zabini to a couple of chairs set at the far corner, past the entrance to their dormitory. When Zabini pulls out a book and starts reading, Harry’s eyes sweep over the common room’s occupants with new interest. He runs a thumb across the leather band wrapped around his left wrist in silent contemplation, feeling the shape of the runes pressed into the leather as he recalls the lessons of the one who gifted it to him.  

After a moment, Harry rummages through his book bag to find his Charms textbook. He typically detests reading about theory, however, finding a clue to helping his friend is a different task entirely. Boring concepts become much more tangible with Draco’s problem in mind. There’s an urgency that focuses him as he familiarizes himself with basic charms theory.

He’s not too focused, however, to notice the movement in the common room. As more students enter, Harry glances up now and then, keeping track of where people are and what they are doing. He notes their formal interactions and quiet voices distantly. It’s second nature for him to always know what’s going on around him. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t have been able to stay out of the way so well. Or, dodge the various objects that had been flung at him in anger. Harry’s even developed a sort of instinct whenever aggressive intention is directed his way. It was a sort of prickling at the back of his neck that had allowed him to get a head start on escaping Dudley more than once.    

It also doesn’t hurt that Zabini is offering bits of commentary on each person in the common room. Loki had said once, “ _In any game, one must learn the players as well as the rules._ ”

When the other boy first leans over to Harry giving insights into their classmates in a low voice that only the two of them can hear, he wonders what Zabini’s price will be. After seeing the deal Zabini struck with Draco last night, Harry is acquainted with how much he values information. Obviously, Zabini’s not giving him little insights into nearly everyone in their year simply to be helpful.

_Unless he has his payment already?_

Harry doesn’t have time to marvel that the epiphany in his head sounds strangely like Loki’s voice because he’s pushing down the reflexive anger at being used for his notoriety. Of course, Zabini would benefit from gaining the appearance of someone who has the ear of The Boy Who Lived. Harry takes a deep breath and weighs the information that Zabini has given. Much of it is probably common knowledge to anyone who grew up in Wizarding Society, but since Harry and Draco did not, it is of value to them.     

Harry’s thoughts are interrupted when his familiar pokes her nose slowly out of his sleeve. She’s hissing softly and asking for food. Harry smiles fondly as he pulls out the magical pouch he bought at the Magical Menagerie containing quail eggs charmed to stay fresh. The magical pouch bore the label “Chittock’s Creature Comestibles”. He had asked about how it worked and was amazed to hear the explanations of quail hens charmed to be comfortable laying as many eggs as chickens, wizards applying preservation charms, and the special goblin magic which would send eggs as well as other treats to customers far and wide. It was the same kind of magic that kept Draco’s galleon pouch at a certain amount. Apparently, some enterprising wizards had contracted with the goblins to enchant their creature comestibles pouches in the same way.   

When Harry tells Jör that she can only have one, the background noise of conversation disappears. He tenses slightly, aware that his magical speech has drawn the attention of the entire room.

“Who would have predicted that the Boy Who Lived would sort Slytherin? I wouldn’t have believed it; but for hearing him speak parseltongue, that is.” Winfrith Selwyn, one of the seventh years sitting by the fireplace is speaking too loudly for his words to be meant solely for the ears of his companions, Gordon Gibbon and Thorfinn Rowle. He turns his head towards Harry and asks in an even louder voice than before, “But I wonder if Potter wouldn’t have wanted to be in Gryffindor like his parents?”

It’s obvious that everyone else in the room has stopped their own conversations in favor of listening to theirs. Harry wants to answer that he doesn’t know anything about his parents, that he didn’t even know anything about magic until the day Hagrid arrived with his Hogwarts letter. However, Loki had imparted many things to him during his time on the Odinson Estate. One of Loki’s lessons was not to give away information to just anyone. “ _Often there is regret for saying too much, and seldom regret in too little said,_ ” he had explained to Harry. Still, this is a challenge that he cannot leave unanswered. Selwyn’s true intent is plain enough to see — he’s testing Harry to see if he’s a true Slytherin. Harry decides to respond with a trick Loki taught him.

“You think I wanted to be in Gryffindor because my parents were in Gryffindor?” Harry asks with as little inflection as he can manage. This can only work if he keeps his tone neutral.

“Well, I can’t imagine why you’d want to be in the same House as the one who caused their deaths,” Selwyn replies airily, likely seeking to provoke some kind of reaction from Harry.

“You don’t think that I want to be in Slytherin?” Harry asks flatly.

“The child of Gryffindors _wanting_ to be in Slytherin?! And the Boy Who Lived, no less?” Selwyn bursts out as if it is the punchline to some great joke. He shakes his head and scoffs, “Merlin, no, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Why doesn’t it make any sense?”

“It’s a bit absurd that the symbol of the Dark Lord’s defeat would sort into his House. Unless, of course, you had some ambition to—” Selwyn stops abruptly and his eyes narrow evidently realizing what Harry is doing. “ _Well_. Aren’t you interesting, Potter?” he says as he regards Harry with a calculating eye. The older boy drums his fingers against the couch, appearing to consider his response. “Maybe you are one of us after all,” he concedes before he turns away, apparently dismissing Harry altogether.

Zabini leans closer and whispers approvingly, “Well done, Potter.” Harry rolls his eyes. Such smugness is motivated entirely by Zabini’s own self-interest. “You must understand, it’s not ever much of a surprise who gets sorted into Slytherin. But, you and Odinson — no one is sure what to make of you two yet.”

“Right. And yet, here you are, looking like the only one who has a clue.” Harry whispers back. He turns his head towards Zabini and adds quietly, “Thanks for the information, but you know there’s no reason we can’t just be friends. Think about what Draco said last night.” Without waiting for a response, Harry shrugs idly and goes back to reading his Charms textbook. He finds himself re-reading a passage several times about how all charms are a precisely balanced formula comprised of incantation, wand movement, and magical power. The casting of a charm must be exact and even a slight mispronunciation of a word can sometimes lead to an unexpected result.

Apparently, some poor wizard wound up with a Buffalo on his chest because he said “s” instead of “f.”

 

* * *

 

Many of Draco’s early memories the time when he had lived at Malfoy Manor were filled with a feeling of never being good enough. Lucius didn’t speak to him often, but when he did it was often to remind Draco that he needed to be superior because Malfoys were always superior. The expectation was that he would exceed expectations and the price of failure was rejection. Anything less than perfect was met with a scathing look of disappointment that Draco could recall with perfect clarity to this very day. That was the lesson he remembers most from the cold halls of Malfoy Manor, a certainty that was seared into his very bones despite all the years that had passed.

It is why he feels like his heart is being crushed for his failure to perform a simple charm.

The first time his magic wouldn’t do what his Faðir was trying to teach him, Draco had cried so hard he could barely breathe. He had been expecting the harsh reprimand that always came whenever he failed at a task, but his Faðir had simply said, _“Peace, little dragon. Everything in its time.”_ And whenever he fell over and over again trying to reach the end of an obstacle course his Faðir had laid, he received words of encouragement instead of condemnation.

 _“Simply begin again, little dragon,”_ his Faðir had said whenever he failed at a task.  

But he didn’t know _how_ to begin again. He honestly didn’t want to. After _failing_ , again and again, Draco wanted more than anything to avoid the subject entirely.  

He had all but fled the Defense classroom in a mild panic about Allspeak impeding his ability to cast charms. He just knew that he needed to get outside and clear his head as soon as possible. A simple run wouldn’t be enough. He’d felt the need to hit something. Badly. Perhaps a tree trunk in lieu of a proper training post. But, when he remembered that there were no suitable trees nearby, Draco decided instead to make his way to the owlery.

“C’mon, girl, let’s go for a fly!” he calls out to Hedwig before he shifts into a white hawk and zooms out the window. Draco had been able to do this a few times at the Estate when Harry would be in the greenhouse and his Faðir would say something like, “ _I think you should go practice your core curriculum for an hour while I show Harry how to properly prepare these ingredients_.” Harry naturally assumed that Draco had been sent off to practice some advanced archery or sword forms. And while Draco did, in fact, do those things, he’d also take to the skies with the snowy owl who he’d grown to adore.

It’s only after he’s in the air that he remembers Faðir’s prohibition against shifting forms while at Hogwarts. Undeterred from his present course of action and mostly certain that what his Faðir really meant was not to get caught doing it, Draco decides that he can shift back somewhere out of the way later. It feels far too good to be flying free in the sky.  

Hedwig flies swiftly up to him and then Draco suddenly dives towards a cluster of trees before she can catch up. The rush of speeding towards the ground is incredible. He hears Hedwig’s high-pitched whistle of disapproval behind him. She’s fast enough to match his pace but he’s using his slight head start to his advantage. In addition, Draco’s hawk form is smaller than Hedwig, so she’s not able to follow in the same patterns through the tree branches. Still, she isn’t too far behind him and is gaining ground. Her barking hoots of reproval are getting closer and Draco wishes he could laugh in this form instead of just screeching his amusement.

 _Faster! Faster!_ The thought repeats again and again in his mind.

His wings beat with the frustration he feels as he weaves in between the tree branches. Draco is moving so swiftly that avoiding the next obstacle takes up all the space in his thoughts. All that exists is the choice to move left or right or up or down. He makes his choices with each breath even as his lungs start to burn, reveling in the satisfaction of feeling in control.

When Draco shifts, he takes on the form but not the essence of the animal he’s imitating. His senses remain the same. He does not acquire any traits other than physical of the animal he’s shifted into. It also requires a degree of magical concentration and coordination that he’s still developing. Depending on the complexity of the form, Draco is able to hold his altered shape for minutes or hours. Typically, Draco can usually remain as a hawk for about a few hours.

With his turbulent thoughts and the excessive strain he’s putting on himself, however, it doesn’t take long for Draco’s concentration to break.    

His sudden lack of wings do not translate into a cessation of momentum and suddenly Draco is flying through the air towards a tree trunk with no way to avoid it. His shoulder slams against the tree and he tumbles down, grasping at branches only to have them break under his weight. Hedwig’s squawks of distress are low and frantic. She sinks her talons into his shoulder and beats her wings furiously in a desperate attempt to help slow his fall. While Draco is thankful for the gesture, it is impossible for her to carry his weight and Hedwig’s sharp claws _hurt_.

Seconds pass like minutes in slow motion as a new surge of adrenaline hits in response to his peril. When he’s finally able to grab hold of a sturdy branch to cease his decent, Draco has just enough strength to swing his legs up to help pull himself over. Hedwig is now alternating between cooing softly in relief and nipping at his head. His lungs are greedy for air and it takes a long moment before he is able to form words to reassure his familiar, “I’m...alright...girl,” he says in halting breaths.

When his breathing evens out, Draco suddenly remembers something important. The cold realization is like ice in his veins. Stomach coiling with dread, he can only petition for mercy in his desperation.

“Heimdall! Please, please, _please_ don’t tell my Faðir about this!” Draco yells in panic, “I’m unharmed! Perfectly fine! See?” He fervently hopes that the ever watchful gatekeeper takes him at his word. As he begins to carefully climb down, Draco continues to talk to the one adult he knows will always listen to him, “I was just so _angry_ about not being able to do a simple little charm today. Because of Allspeak! Heimdall, it’s awful! Faðir’s taught me all sorts of things about magic, but why didn’t he teach me more about the magic of Midgard?”

After climbing down to a more manageable height, with Hedwig flapping her wings and alternating between reassuring cooing and scold-hooting at him the whole time, he jumps down. Draco rolls smoothly through the grass to absorb the impact with practiced ease. His whole body is sore from over-exerting himself, so he doesn’t attempt to get up when he comes to a stop.

Sprawled in the grass gazing up at the sky, Draco’s venting to Heimdall resumes, “And, I don’t think...I mean, I _know_ he wouldn’t send me here if I couldn’t do the mortal’s simple magic. Everything has a purpose with him. He’s _always_ making me have to figure things out.”

He groans and rubs his shoulder. All in all, he’s bruised but generally uninjured. The shallow cuts on his hands from trying to keep himself from falling are already fading. Draco pokes his fingers through the holes that Hedwig made in his robes with a frown and decides to figure out how to mend his robes later. At least the wounds from Hedwig’s claws are minor and should be fully healed by bedtime. If he’d been wearing his Asgardian leathers under the robes instead of the flimsy shirt and tie of Midgard then he wouldn’t have had any wounds at all. Draco silently curses the impracticality of Midgardian garments before he gives voice to the other thoughts which clamor for attention.

“Heimdall, I’ve spent so much time learning so many things and now I’m supposed to go to Hogwarts knowing nothing? Faðir is always telling me things without saying anything! And usually it’s a game and it’s fun. But this — Allspeak keeping me from doing magic — it’s important! Why send me here with such a disadvantage? Why… why even send me here at all…if I was going to fail...” he finishes weakly.

 _I’m supposed to be better than this_.

Draco can’t help but chastise himself, throwing his arm over his eyes when he feels the sting of tears starting to form in response to his overwhelming feelings. He wants to cry with frustration. He wants to scream with rage at his circumstances. He’s been made to study dozens of subjects. Hogwarts, with its handful of subjects, wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. Draco looked forward to getting a break from all the difficult studying his Faðir has made him do each day. Yet, charms is supposed to be the easiest magical subject for first years. If he can’t even perform a simple charm Draco wonders how he is supposed to have any hope of doing anything at all.

His thoughts spiral negatively until his stomach interrupts with an unhappy growl. Draco groans.  He’s going to be ravenous in the next hour due to all the energy he exerted.

“And I’m so hungry!” Draco wails, “Stupidly small Midgardian meals! Poor excuse of a feast! Ugh!”

Draco suddenly finds his thoughts turning to the quirky house-elf he’d known all his life who had a penchant for wearing brightly colored t-shirts as tunics and who would never fail to bring him snacks after training.

The day his Faðir took him home to the Odinson Estate, Draco and Dobby were introduced to the dozens of house-elves who lived at the Estate as the Húsvættir. Unlike the house-elves he had met before, the Húsvættir didn’t act like they were bonded in servitude; they simply acted as if they belonged. Dobby had been in confused awe upon seeing the Húsvættir’s clothing and asked if they were free elves too. They, in turn, were puzzled at his question and replied that they were bonded with the magic of the Estate freely.

The Húsvættir always genuinely happy to see Draco and his Faðir whenever they’d return to the Estate from Asgard. His Faðir never ordered them about and never missed an opportunity to express his thanks for their care of the Estate and its inhabitants. Draco learned that the Húsvættir were magical beings who would care for magical places and even some non-magical ones should the mortals residing there be sufficiently gracious hosts. His Faðir explained that many clans of the Húsvættir had somehow became bonded with not only the magic of the households, but also with the magic of the Wizarding families themselves. It was something that was unnecessary as a family would always benefit from a Húsvættir’s care of a magical household. But unlike a household’s needs which were simple and static, the wants and needs of individuals were fickle and demanding.

The Húsvættir had been quietly horrified at Dobby’s compulsion to punish himself and how overly grateful he was at the smallest gesture of kindness. It was the most obvious consequence from the twisting of the natural bonding magic. Over the years, Dobby became less self-effacing under the tutelage of the Húsvættir.

Draco sighs. “Heimdall, I miss Dobby.” He had a fondness for all the Húsvættir who let him follow them around the Estate, showing him their various tasks like it was a sort of game, but Dobby would always be his favorite.  

A loud crack of apparition startles Draco and he cranes his neck searching for the source.

“Hello Young Princeling!” Dobby’s familiar voice rings out. Draco sits up fully and is greeted with the sight of Dobby in his usual brightly colored attire.

“Dobby! What are you doing here?” Draco asks in shock.

“It is Dobby’s job to look after Young Draco,” the house-elf says solemnly, “The Young Princeling is at Hogwarts now and Dobby cannot be taking care of him if Dobby is not also at Hogwarts.” Dobby did take the matter of his employment rather seriously. After being set free from the Malfoy family, Dobby was paid 15 galleons a week to do many of the same tasks he had performed at the Manor relating to Draco’s care. Dobby delighted in purchasing clothing with his earnings — socks in particular — in gaudy colors and dizzying patterns.

Draco squints suspiciously, “Faðir said for you to come to Hogwarts too?”

“Sir Loki is not saying, but Dobby is knowing what he is meaning. Dobby must stay close to Young Draco!” he insists. Draco opens his mouth to respond, but then his stomach growls loudly.

“Young Princeling is needing food!” Dobby looks appalled before his tone becomes exasperated, “Why did he not tell Dobby?” Dobby disapparates before Draco can reply and reappears a few moments later carrying a basket.    

“Thank you so much, Dobby! Oh, thank the Norns for you!” Draco cheers in elation when he sees that the basket is filled with bread, cheese, and fruit. He grabs handfuls at a time and is glad his Faðir is not around to scold him for eating like his Uncle Thor.

“Dobby is so pleased to help Young Princeling.”

“But, Dobby, it won’t be the same. I’ll be busy with my studies most of the time.” Draco manages to say between mouthfuls of food. As much as he misses Dobby, there really wouldn’t be much for him to do at Hogwarts. His tasks concerning Draco didn't take much time and he'd spend the majority of his days with the Húsvættir. “And won’t you miss Beyla and the other Húsvættir at the Estate?” Beyla was the matriarch of the Húsvættir clan that lived at the Estate and tended to dote on Dobby in a way that reminded Draco of his grandmother. The house-elf’s stubborn expression recedes as a wave of uncertainty flutters over his features. Draco seizes upon Dobby’s hesitation and adds, “What if you just visited me every now and then to look in on me? And, your magic tells you when I call for you even if you’re not here, right?”

Dobby nods slowly, finally relenting, “Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes and Dobby will do whatever Young Draco wants him to do.”

“It’s settled then. I promise to call you whenever I need you.” He stands up and checks the position of the setting sun. Draco estimates that there’s more than an hour before dinner time. “Just enough time to go to the library.” He mutters, squinting into the horizon. Then Draco remembers that he dropped his book bag in the owlery before he transformed. His expression falls. “Except that I have to go back to the owlery to get my book bag—”

“Dobby will get it!” the house-elf proclaims before disapparating.   

When Dobby returns with his things, Draco reassures the house-elf that he has no more need of help. Dobby points to the tears in Draco’s robes and vows he will make sure they are mended during the night. Before he departs, the house-elf admonishes him one final time, “Young Princling is not knowing when he needs help. Dobby will have to check on him every day to be making certain.”

Draco is unsure whether to be comforted or disquieted by that declaration.

 

* * *

 

In the library, Draco is so engrossed in one of the more promising texts on charms theory that he crashes into someone. _Pansy Parkinson_ , his mind supplies her name and he recalls that she was sorted into Slytherin right after he was. But before Draco can even open his mouth to apologize and ask if she is alright, the girl takes a step back into a bookshelf with eyes wide and fearful. Draco knows he looks a bit disheveled after his tumble through the tree, but he didn’t think it was so bad as to warrant being gawked at with such alarm. Just as he’s scowling with disapproval at being treated so strangely by a fellow Slytherin, he remembers that this girl was the only Slytherin to react to Harry with fearful apprehension. Or at least, Draco had thought that she was reacting to Harry since he was speaking parseltongue at the time. This response to him alone, however, contradicts his assumption and evokes his curiosity.

“G-Get away from me! I'll scream, I swear!” her voice barely above a whisper.

“You're afraid of me? I had assumed it was Harry.” Draco remarks offhandedly, more to himself than to her. Tilting his head in thought, he wonders why she’s acting so skittish towards him.

Parkinson’s face twists in offense, “Why would I be afraid of that half-blood?”

Draco reassesses his position when Parkinson frowns at him like he’s an imbecile. He mentally kicks himself for speaking without thinking through all the information he already has. Of course, there would be the likelihood that she would be a pureblood supremacist. He knew that many Slytherin’s had been raised with that ideology. With perfect hindsight, Draco concludes that he should have just catalogued her reaction and retreated to think through possibilities. His Faðir’s admonishments about speaking without thinking ring loudly in his thoughts.

There was really nothing keeping him from doing that now except his wounded pride caused by miscalculation. After failing to cast a simple charm earlier in the day, Draco is particularly on edge about making mistakes. He rationalizes his next actions by the fact that he’s already in a good position to get more information, so he smooths his befuddlement away and glares harshly while taking a step closer.

Parkinson tries to backs up even further into the corner and the fear is back in her eyes.

Does he ask a question? Does he make a statement? What _is_ he trying to learn here? _Stupid, Draco. Very stupid._ He scolds himself, then turns and leaves. Parkinson’s loud sigh of relief is audible even as he walks away.

He’s walking towards an alcove with three books in his arms when he’s grabbed and yanked into one of the aisles.

“Are you mad?” the larger figure demands. Draco recognizes her as another fellow first-year Slytherin, Millicent Bulstrode.

“I honestly don’t have much to be upset about,” Draco snarks, “I’m quite happy, thank you,”

“Your mother was a Black so a lot of the stories say that you went mad after you were kidnapped—”

“I was _never_ kidnapped.” Draco hisses.

“Oh? So, you simply decided to leave one day. At six years old?” she challenges.

“I was _seven_ ,” he corrects firmly.

Bulstrode snorts. “No, you weren’t. Your birthday wasn’t for two more months.”

Draco almost wants to gape at the accuracy of that statement but refuses to be played, “Right, you’ve clearly studied up on me. Not hard to do. But that doesn’t mean you can—”

“One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.” She snaps at him angrily. For a moment, Draco can't process her words. It's the title of the book that...

“Wha— _You’re_ Mils?!” he exclaims in shock when he makes the connection. In Draco’s memories, his first friend had been a boy because Mils did everything he did. At 6 years of age, Draco didn’t actually know many girls and the ones he did know had behaved in a way that was completely _other_. They didn’t care to play outside because they’d get their fancy clothes dirty. Or, so he thought until he went to go live with his Faðir and heard his tales about Helga Hufflepuff and Aunt Sif. His world as a child was so small and narrow that it actually made sense that he didn’t realize that Mils was a girl. But now, looking at the features of Bulstrode’s face and the dark fringe parted in the middle that frames her strong jaw, it is obvious that she is indeed the same person who was his first friend.

“Don’t call me that,” she growls. “I was friends with Draco _Malfoy_ once, but then he disappeared. He’s been missing for years and…” Bulstrode pauses, her face contorting with anger before she spits out with more virulence than Draco would have ever thought possible of the quiet child he knew long ago, “I don’t know _you_.”

Draco physically recoils as if the words themselves had slapped him in the face.

“And stay away from Pansy,” Bulstrode adds as she pivots sharply before walking away.

He stands there stunned and releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to my muse, Chip, and to musiclover19 for their help in getting this chapter into its final form! I am still looking for one or two more people to help with general feedback and typo checking. I understand that not everyone has the time to beta read, so I figure if I have a few different people to ask then it’s less of a burden for the volunteers who are helping me out. So, if you’re interested, please send me a message on Tumblr! (contact info in my profile) 
> 
> I am planning to update the story regularly again. The next chapter is about half-written and I will be posting updates on my Tumblr so you can always check for info about when the story will be updated next on there ^__^


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